


What Dreams May Come

by Kissy



Series: The Zeitgeist Trilogy [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivalice is imperiled by a new, unstoppable epidemic.  Ashe and Basch must give up their dreams to save their world from certain death, but the means to deliver Ivalice from doom might be beyond their reach.  Rated for sexuality, adult themes, graphic depictions of death, and graphic violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Darkest of Winters

Journal entry: 14 January 712 O.V.

_We live in troubled times. Peril threatens my country—not from war, or tyranny. The Great Plague has returned, and my people are dying. Indeed, all of Ivalice has been brushed by Death’s hem…and there isn’t anything I can do to stop it._

_This disease jeopardizes everyone great and small. My heart’s blood comes in contact with the carriers of the disease and the corpses of its victims on a regular basis—and yet, he still has not succumbed to it. I thank the Gods every day for that, but I fear that one day his luck will simply run out. When will the Plague finally strike him down? When will Basch make me a widow once again?_

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ashe gazed down at her diary. It had been months since she had written anything in it, but lately she leafed through her old entries and read what was written there. This particular entry was almost a year old.

She hiccupped once, deep in her chest. Larsa was more than capable of keeping order in Archades, but since the resurgence of the Great Plague, Basch regularly traveled to Archades to help Larsa bring order out of chaos. His last journey began three months ago. He hadn’t returned, or sent word that all was well.

Nausea made her head spin. She crossed her arms on her desk and dropped her head on them. Every fiber of Ashe’s being screamed at her that all was decidedly _not_ well with Archades, or Larsa, or Basch.

In her heart, Ashe knew that Basch was dead.


	2. Für Immer Lieben

Journal entry: 08 August 710 O.V.

_Despite promising myself that I would stay away from Dalmasca and Ashe, I have returned. I have come home. We have reconciled, and I am grateful that she has chosen to be with me. I can't imagine why, but I'll keep my own counsel. Personally, I think I am far too old for her. Love is beyond time, however, so I make little issue of our age difference._

_That is neither here nor there, for she and I have pledged ourselves to each other. The rub lies in just_ how _we're going to marry when I am supposed to be dead, and Noah—who I am impersonating—is merely a Judge Magister. How in the world would that look, if Judge Magister Noah Gabranth married Queen Ashelia B'Nargin?_

_The most troubling thing to me at this time is the resurgence of the Great Plague. Ashe and I have discussed its return at length. I made certain she was aware that I might have to return to Archades to help Larsa in any way I can, any time he calls for me. Appearances must be kept up..._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Later that year, two days before Yule, Basch confronted Ashe with—what he thought—was the answer to the puzzling conundrum of their upcoming nuptials.

Ashe sat at her writing desk, idly flipping through her journal, when Basch swept in. He grinned at her, as he gathered her close. Ashe could feel the frigid night air on his skin and in the folds of his cloak. She buried her nose in his cloak and reveled in the scents of the night. When she raised her face to his for affection, she cocked her head curiously at Basch.

His face was alight with anticipation, and not for her kiss, either. “There's something I want to show you tomorrow morning,” said he.

“What is it?” Ashe smirked impishly at Basch. “Or is it a secret? Did you get me my Yule present early?”

“You can say that.” Basch untied his cloak's thong, and he flung it haphazardly onto the bed. “I want you to come with me to meet someone...a Nu Mou.”

“A holy man.” Ashe planted her hands on her hips. “Yuletide services, perhaps?”

He found Ashe's plush divan, and dropped, exhausted, into it. He ran his fingers through his hair. “You know better than that, Ashe. We're going to him to discuss our wedding issues.”

“Issues...I wouldn't say that, Basch,” said Ashe. She winked. “We simply need to find a plausible way to get married without raising too much uproar over your common blood.”

“This isn't a joke, Ashe,” said Basch. He mock-scowled at her. “My being a commoner really is an issue. I cannot marry you, not according to the laws of the land.”

“Fine.” She sat on his knee, and wrapped her arms around her travel-weary intended. “I think there is a duchy or two on the outskirts of Dalmasca that have been recently vacated...I'll bestow a dukedom on you. So there.”

He laughed, despite the gravity of his argument. “You win, love.”

She touched the tip of her nose to his. “I usually do.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Before the sun rose, Basch led Ashe to a secluded hamlet, some five miles North of Rabanastre's borders. The pre-dawn air was frigid. Ashe snuggled herself closer to Basch as they rode their gigantic chocobo, Jenny. Jenny whistled in interrogation when Ashe stirred, and craned her graceful neck to look over at her riders. Basch set her back on course with a gentle nudge.

“Come on, Jenny. The morning is wasting.”

Jenny gave Basch a dirty look, whistled once more, and continued down the dirt path. As Basch smiled to himself (he still hated chocobos, but Jenny grew on Basch despite Jenny's dislike for _him_ ), he tightened his arms around Ashe's middle. “Cold, love?”

“A bit, Basch. I think frost is growing in your beard.”

He snickered into her hair. “We are in the middle of the desert, Ashe. It will be positively balmy in three or four hours. You know that the nights around here are freezing...even in the summer.”

She shivered convulsively. “At least it isn't Paramina. We left there frozen to the core.” She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at Basch. “You didn't seem all that concerned about the cold, though. I almost expected you to throw off your cloak and make snow angels in the drifts.”

He smiled broadly. “I had to rein in that impulse a few times. All that snow made me a tiny bit homesick.”

“Mmm.” Ashe leaned her head back until it rested on Basch's chest. “Basch...what was Landis like?”

He answered without a second thought. “Landis was Heaven, Ashe. Winters there were always white. Her summers were warm and clear. The Dying Time was a riot of color. The leaves on the trees would turn red and gold and purple, before they withered and fell from the boughs.” He blinked at Ashe. “You've never been there?”

“Once, when I was very little.” Ashe turned her countenance to the road again as she reminisced. “It wasn't cold, then. It was a lovely time of year, where everything was green and the air smelled of flowers.”

“Spring, then,” said Basch. “Noah and I always looked forward to springtime in Landis. We both loved the newness of it all...the sound of early-morning rain on our roof...the clear nights where you could look up at the stars and almost see forever.”

“Oh...that's beautiful,” said Ashe.

He nodded, and nuzzled her cheek. “It _was_ beautiful...the second most lovely thing in my life.”

Basch felt rather than saw the violent blush that spread in Ashe's cheeks. He grinned, and continued. “It wasn't just Noah and I that looked forward to that time of year. Everyone anticipated the spring thaws. Our winters were bitter.”

Ashe nodded, and continued her recount. “My father decided to take me along for a trip to see the regent of Landis, just before Landis's fall...my mother had died perhaps a year prior to the trip, and I never strayed far from his side.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It was perhaps Raminas's poor judgment to take a toddler into a war zone, but he didn't trust anyone with his only daughter. He had lost most of his sons—my brothers—at that point, so I suppose he thought that the safest place for me was at his side.”

“Until he found you a proper babysitter,” Basch grumbled. He was thrust into that position more times than he cared to think about. “I remember how much of a nuisance you were at three years old.”

“I was horrible, wasn't I?” Ashe laughed. “I'm sure you wanted to throttle me when I decided to become a real annoyance.”

He grinned again, as he held Ashe close. “I haven't forgotten the incident with your mother's makeup, Ashe. I'm not sure where you got the idea to paint my face with the stuff while I slept. Because I dozed off while babysitting you, I became a laughingstock for weeks afterwards.”

Ashe chuckled. “It wasn't my fault that you dozed off, or that you are a heavy sleeper. And I honestly can't imagine why you didn't wake up when I braided your hair. It took forever to comb the knots out without disturbing you. I also remember when Vossler came to check on me, and had a good laugh at your expense.”

It was good to talk of Vossler, now. Basch didn't hold any ill will against the man anymore. He smiled fondly at the memory. “I had no idea of what you had done, Ashe...and when Vossler nearly soiled his trousers laughing at me, I thought he had gone mad. Afterwards, when I realized what was all over my face, I broke nearly every capillary in my eyes in an attempt to scrub the makeup off...and I still looked like a raccoon for days. I could have cheerfully murdered you, then.”

Ashe laughter sounded like golden bells. “After the thrashing my governess gave me, I never went into Mother's makeup...not until my wedding.”

“And I never fell asleep around you again after that,” said Basch, sobering. “Not until we met again on the Leviathan.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Ashe finally broke the quiet. “It must have been difficult for you to have that kind of faith in me.” Ashe sighed. “I hated you for so long. Weren't you worried that I would kill you in your sleep?”

“Yes, I was,” said Basch truthfully. “But at that time I thought I was atoning for everything that had happened to you up to that point, so if you did kill me, then my dying thought probably would have been that I deserved it.”

“I thought you were a monster,” said Ashe, as she twined her fingers with Basch's. “I'm glad you proved me wrong.”

He buried his face in the crown of her hair. It was redolent of the oils she used to dress it. It was musky, and a bit sweet. He glanced over her head, and pulled slightly at Jenny's reins. “Ashe...we're here.”

Basch dismounted, and guided Jenny to a natural cul-de-sac of sorts. It was a hill surrounded by a copse of apple trees. Tiny huts dotted the clearing.

“How charming,” said Ashe, as she dismounted Jenny with Basch's help. Jenny cooed at Basch, and whomped his head with her beak. Basch saw stars and fought the dizzying feeling of vertigo. “Damned bird,” he muttered, as he looped her tackle around a low-hanging branch. He took Ashe's hand, and led her to a house on the far side of the clearing.

Ashe stopped suddenly. She recognized the house, and knew who lived inside. “Basch...did you take me here to wed me?”

He stopped, and gazed at Ashe frankly. “I have. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I—I _can't_ be handfast!"  Ashe shook her head so hard her hair flew.  "I need to be publicly married!”

Basch squeezed her hand as they made their way to the hill's zenith. “No one is to know of this, Ashe. It would be scandalous if it got out that you married a commoner like Judge Magister Gabranth.”

Ashe pulled her cowl tighter around her face. “I am Queen—not only do I eventually need to be publicly married, but I need to have legitimate offspring. If I marry you in secret, our children will be illicit. How will our child ascend the throne when I am gone?”

He scowled. They hadn’t discussed children at length yet. In all honesty, she did require a public marriage to legitimize any offspring, but he didn’t intend on having _any_ children with Ashe. With the Plague raging, he was afraid to bring any more children into the world and run the risk of making them orphans…and besides, he felt it was too late—at almost forty years old—to have them.

“Ashe,” he said, “I _will_ marry you publicly. This I promise you with all my heart. But for now, please be content with this. It was all I could think of to make our union legitimate. Our future children would not be if this is all we did, but I will have married you properly by then. I promise you it will not be an issue.”

Ashe worried her lower lip, then nodded. “All right. I'll agree to this, because I want to be married to you...but I _will_ hold you to your promise.”

They stepped inside.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Nu-Mou glanced up at their arrival, and nodded amiably. “I've been expecting you both. Welcome.” He looked to Ashe. “You do know that this is a binding ceremony, but will not stand up to the Law, yes?”

“Yes. Will this ceremony be a problem, when we are wed publicly?”

The Nu-Mou cocked one shaggy eyebrow. “It shouldn't. In fact, today's ceremony is the same as the one you will go through when you are properly wed. In further fact, I can perform that ceremony as well, if you like. I _am_ ordained, you see.”

“Forgive me,” said Ashe. “I didn't mean to offend...”

“You didn't, so do not apologize. Your intended has told me of the circumstances leading up to his decision to come to me. You wish to be married, yet he cannot reveal his true identity. I will document this ceremony, and it will be binding. However, the information documented will not be revealed to anyone, as he is dead to almost everyone on Ivalice.

“You will be married in the eyes of the Gods, but not in the eyes of Ivalice, or its governing nations, or the populace. When you are publicly wed, that will not be an issue—but for now, consider this ceremony a handfasting, nothing more.”

“Done,” said Basch. He turned to Ashe. “Consider this ceremony my promise to you.”

“Done,” echoed Ashe.

The Nu-Mou nodded again. “Shall we begin?”

-=-=-=-=-=-

After the short ceremony, the Nu-Mou cleared his throat, embarrassed. “And that is all. This is where I normally say 'May you be fruitful', but under the circumstances...please be careful. Faram.”

Basch reached out and touched his new wife's face. “Ashe...please be patient with me. I will find a resolution to this, I swear it.”

Ashe touched the mate to the silver armband that she wore. Basch had given it to her her when he first returned to Rabanastre. He wore his band high on his left arm, under his sleeve, so that it remained hidden. She stepped into the waiting circle of his arms. “I know you will. I have faith in you.”


	3. Journal 1

Journal entry, 01 November 711

_Last month, Larsa's Mages tried to touch the Arcane again. They had no success. In fact, five of the Mages collapsed under the stress, and one of them is now dead. It troubles me. We enjoyed the luxuries of magick for a long, long time, and since we defeated the Novus, the Arcane has been inaccessible._

_It seems that his passing destroyed everything that had to do with magick or the Arcane. The palings that had hovered over Archades and Rabanastre and the other large cities have not been re-erected. The crystal glades that once dotted the countryside have been obliterated. The magicite mines are cold and dark; the magick there has fled._

_We had access to the Arcane the last time the Great Plague ravaged our world. We were able to give some relief to those that lay dying, and some measure of protection to those that were not brushed by Death's hem. We do not have that buffer anymore, and now the Plague is raging with nothing to check it._

_I have not been touched by it. I am beating the odds by a wide margin, for certain, but I have to wonder...why? Why am I being spared by the Plague? Methinks it is a sign from the divinities—perhaps it is I that must help those that need my help. Perhaps I have been charged with the comfort of the dying._

_I should speak with Ashe about this. Surely she can give me insight where I have none._

_I_ should _speak with her...but lately she and I have been at odds with one another. She has been pressuring me for children, and I understand why. She needs offspring. She needs someone to succeed her when she is gone. She and I are not married, not really, but still she pushes. I cannot—_ will _not—give to her what she desires now. I will not run the risk of giving Ashe a child when I can be struck down by the Great Plague at any time._

_I have been watching Ashe closely. More to the point, I have been watching her cycles, and I make myself scarce when she is fertile. She resents me for it, but I will not bend. I travel to Archades when I know her body is nearing its fertile time. It is exhausting. The constant travel is exhausting, so I tend to stay away from Rabanastre—and Ashe—for longer periods of time. This time I've been gone for over two months, and as I make my way to Dalmasca, I cringe when I think about how I've neglected Ashe._

_I still have no idea how we will be properly wed. There are times when I seriously think about taking Ashe up on her offer of the dukedom, and marrying her under the guise of my late brother._

_And when I come to my senses afterwards, I shudder._


	4. Cognizance

In a letter addressed to Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, from Queen Ashe B'Nargin:

_20 October 711, O.V._

_Larsa,_

_I must speak with you about a private matter. Please don't think me untoward, but I need a favor from you. If you could speak to our mutual friend about his absence from Dalmasca, I would be forever in your debt. He has made himself scarce these past few months, and it has begun to put a strain on our relationship. Please tell him to return to me at once._

_I hope everything is well for you, during this trying time, and I hope that your country will overcome the plague that rampages across Ivalice. You are in my thoughts and prayers._

_Ashe_

-=-=-=-=-=-

The night before Basch left Archades to return to Dalmasca, Larsa met his intended for the first time. Larsa's fiancée was a member of the Margrace Family, and was affianced to Larsa since her birth. When the war between Rozarria and Archades commenced, the union was of course null and void—but afterwards, when peace talks resumed between the two battling countries, Larsa found himself fiancé once again to a member of the Rozarrian royal family. Most royal marriages were arranged, and sometimes the two people in question learned to become quite fond of each other (or fell in love with each other, in the case of Rasler and Ashelia), but it didn't seem the way of it with Larsa and his young bride-to-be. In fact, since her arrival, they hardly looked at each other.

That first night, a grand party was planned in celebration of their upcoming nuptials. It went poorly.

They sat to dinner first. Larsa, his young Rozarrian fiancée, Larsa's attendants (including Basch), the girl's entourage, and various court hangers-on sat around Larsa's enormous oaken dining table and ate supper amidst thunderous silence.

After the mostly soundless (and very uncomfortable) meal, the entire party moved to an adjacent ballroom. All eyes were on Larsa and his fiancée, as they studied the tops of their shoes with great interest. Basch rolled his eyes under his helmet, as Zargabaath approached him.

“Gabranth...I must take my leave for the moment.”

Basch nodded to him. “All right. When you return, I must go, as well.”

Zargabaath nodded. “Do what you must, Gabranth. I will guard Lord Larsa in your absence.”

Basch grunted in agreement, and frowned distractedly under the death-mask he wore. He genuinely liked Zargabaath. The man was just and kind, and at that moment Basch disliked the ruse he had to maintain. He would give anything to be able to talk to someone (besides Larsa) as a friend...as himself. Not his brother. He hated the artifice of his station. He nodded to Zargabaath, and approached Larsa. Without preamble, he tapped Larsa on the shoulder.

“My Lord...is everything all right?”

“Fine, Judge Magister,” said Larsa, as he shuffled his boots. “Why?”

Basch grinned widely under Judge Magister Gabranth's helmet. “You look uncomfortable, that's all. Why not ask your fiancée to dance? Ask her about the weather in Rozarria...talk about affairs in Ordalia...my Lord, _anything_ will do!”

“ _No_! I...can't!” Larsa shot Basch a panicked glance. “I wouldn't know where to begin!”

Basch nodded slowly. “All right. Observe, your Majesty.”

Basch removed his helmet, and approached the diminutive Rozarrian girl. He bowed deeply to her. The girl, no more than thirteen, met Basch's friendly gaze, and blushed. She raised her hand to Basch, which he received with infinite gentleness.

Basch smiled winsomely at the little royal. “What is your name, lovely one?”

The girl crimsoned, and gazed at her gilt slippers. In a whisper, she said, “Lady Marguerite Alandra Margrace, good Sir.”

The corners of Basch’s mouth quirked, as he tried to suppress a grin. “That’s cumbersome. Do you have a nickname?”

Her blush deepened, until she looked almost apoplectic. She raised her dark eyes to Basch's blue ones. “Mags.”

“Charmed, Mags. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Basch bent to one knee, and gallantly kissed Mags’s proffered hand. When Mags took her hand back, she smiled shyly at her fiancé’s guardian, and bobbed an awkward curtsy.

If looks could kill…

Basch stood, and as he glanced over Mags’s head, he realized that Larsa was most unpleased with him. He winced inwardly. Larsa shot him an acerbic glare as he jerked his head to the foyer. Basch nodded to Larsa, then turned again to Mags. He presented a courtly leg to her and said, “Until we meet again, Mags.”

Larsa’s face flared a violent scarlet. “Judge Magister…I will speak with you in the foyer. Now.”

He followed Larsa. “At once, Majesty.”

When they were in the relative privacy of the hallway, Larsa crossed his arms. “Would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing, Basch?”

“I…” Basch winced slightly. When Larsa used his given name, it was a fair bet that he was plenty peeved at him. “It’s customary to greet women with utmost chivalry and amenity, Majesty.” Basch blinked in confusion. “Surely you don’t think I’m being untoward…”

“Chivalry? _Amenity_? You just treated my fiancée like a blowzy barmaid! Un _toward_? _Pssh._ ” Larsa pointed a shaking finger at Basch. “How in blazes am I to meet her eyes now? You just made my life ten times more difficult than it has to be!”

Basch favored Larsa with a thunderous glare. “I hardly think treating Mags with respect and putting her at ease is cause for you to accuse me of that. How did I make your life difficult again, Majesty?”

“You’re making me look bad!” Larsa’s mouth screwed up petulantly. “I can hardly look at her without feeling like a jackass, let alone talk to her! She makes me so nervous that my tongue gets tied, and I feel like vomiting when she looks at me, she's so beautiful. And you…you have no trouble at all. She looked at you just now like you were the Gods' gift to Hume-kind! I don't know how you could be so at ease with this kind of nonsense, because I can’t _do_ this!”

“You can, and you will, Majesty,” said Basch. “That little show was for your benefit.”

“What do you mean?”

Basch threw his hands up. “Majesty, you need to put her at ease. She's as nervous as you are.”

Larsa crossed his arms. “I shall take your counsel into consideration, Judge Magister.” He frowned at Basch. “And stop calling her that.”

Nonplussed, Basch quirked an eyebrow. “Calling her _what_?”

“Mags.” Larsa shrugged uncomfortably before grinning at Basch. “It's what I called her when I first met her. I thought her name was cumbersome, too.”

Basch pressed his lips together to stay the laughter that wanted to erupt from him. “As you like, Lord Larsa. Will Lady Mags do?”

“I suppose,” said Larsa.

Basch smiled faintly. “Lord Larsa, she's as fond of you as you are of her. Give yourself more credit.”

Larsa twisted his mouth pensively while his gaze floated to the far corner of the hallway. “If you say so. Gabranth?”

“Yes, Lord Larsa?”

Larsa returned his gaze to Basch and looked at him frankly, eyebrows raised. “You are something, Judge Magister.”

Basch blinked again. “What?”

“You are neglecting your wife, aren't you?” Larsa moved closer to his protector and rapped on his armored chest-plate. “Why are you here? You instruct me on wooing Lady Mags, and yet you are here whilst your wife—the _Queen_ , mind—waits for you in Rabanastre. You've been here for _months_. Did you and Ashe quarrel?”

“Lord Larsa,” said Basch, crossing his arms, “Begging your pardon, but that isn't your business.”

Larsa sighed. “Maybe not. But...I've asked you this before. Am I your friend, Gabranth?”

The last time Larsa asked Basch that question, he was unsure of the answer. Now, he was certain of it.

“Yes, you are, Lord Larsa.” After a moment, Basch dropped his arms to his sides. “I cannot tell you why I'm doing what I'm doing to Ashe. It shames me.”

“So be it.” Larsa frowned. “Please don't hesitate to tell me to mind my own beeswax, Gabranth...but please don't be afraid to approach me, either. I'm an ear, if anything.”

Basch glanced at his feet. “I know, Lord Larsa.” Silence. Then: “You don't need to tell me she has contacted you. She has sent me numerous angry letters, and she is quite cross with me. I will return to Ashe in the morning. I will go home and make amends.”

“Excellent.” Larsa smiled. “Give Queen Ashelia my regards.”

“I will. Lord Larsa?”

“Yes, Gabranth?”

Basch grinned as he inclined his head at the young Emperor. “Remind me to tell you of this when you get older.”

Larsa rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “It's always 'when I'm older'. Why not now?”

Basch glanced into the ballroom, where Zargabaath had just returned. Nodding to himself, Basch bowed deeply to his charge. “I'll take my leave now. Good luck with Lady Mags.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

When Basch returned to Rabanastre the next night, the quarters that Ashe and he shared were dark, empty. Basch hung his head and blew an aggravated sigh through his lips, just as Ashe came up behind him and punched his shoulder.

He whirled around, and his face lit up when he saw his wife. Their time apart had done nothing to her beauty, and as she stomped her foot and planted her hands on her hips, the love he felt for her bloomed in his chest. Basch smiled warmly, and gathered Ashe in his arms.

“Hello,” he said.

“Don't you 'hello' me, Basch! Why in the world did you stay away so long, and without a word from you!” She struggled a bit in his arms. “I'm cross with you!”

“I know, Ashe.” He held her close. “Please don't be angry with me. I missed you.”

“That's _why_ I'm cross with you, you lummox. I missed you terribly.” She wrapped her arms around her husband's waist. “Don't do that to me anymore.”

“I apologize, but you must promise not to sneak up on me like that. You nearly scared me out of my skin.”

Ashe made a _moue_. “You deserved it.” She gestured to their sitting room. “I have news for you.”

Basch followed Ashe into their den. “What is it?”

Ashe sat herself on her favorite divan. “We have information regarding the Plague, and the nature of the beast.”

“Tell me,” said Basch, as he snugged himself between the back of the divan and Ashe. “Is it good news?”

“No.” Ashe crossed her arms. “From what I could glean from the little information we have, it is very bad news.”

He pressed his lips together, while he looped his arms around Ashe's shoulders. “What is it?”

“We don't really know what is causing the spread of the Plague, or why it is spreading so rapidly this time, but we have found someone who _does_ know. I need someone to go speak with the man.”

“All right,” said Basch. “I'll go. Where is he?”

Ashe's head rocked back slowly, until it thumped against Basch's chest. “Nalbina...the dungeons of Nalbina. He was a doctor before he killed his entire family, and was sent to Nalbina because he was found insane—Basch?” Ashe lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. What she saw shocked her terribly. “Basch...what is it? _Basch_!”

He was white to the eyebrows. His eyes stared unseeingly to the far wall. Through numb lips, he said, “Find someone else to go to Nalbina.”

”Of course, darling,” said Ashe, “but...what is it? What's wrong?”

Basch stood suddenly. He turned his back to Ashe, muttering. “A doctor that killed his entire family...Gods.” Basch shuddered. “Could it be him? Truly?”

Ashe stood. Her eyebrows knit together as she laid her hand on his elbow, and gently turned his body to face hers. “Basch…I know of your incarceration there, but, something else happened there that you're not telling me. What _happened_ to you in Nalbina?”

He waved her question away angrily, and jerked his elbow out of her grasp. “I’ll _never_ speak of what happened to me there. Not to you, not to anyone. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I might understand,” said Ashe, as she reached up to touch his grizzled cheek. “Even if I didn’t understand, I’ll still listen.”

Moved, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I know you would. But…” Basch squeezed his eyes shut. “I wouldn’t wish what happened to me in Nalbina on my worst enemy. I was…abused, badly.”

Ashe touched the scar that ran from the center of his forehead to his left earlobe. “Yes. I know that.”

“No. You really _don’t_ understand the depth of my abuse.” He could not meet her eyes, but reached up to his forehead and placed his hand over hers. “I have scars that run deeper than this.”

“I…” Ashe placed her hands on Basch’s cheeks and tilted his head to better catch his eye. “I’ll listen to whatever you need to say, Basch. I won’t judge you. I never will, no matter what happened.”

His blue eyes touched her dove-gray ones. “I was brutally tortured while I was there. They beat me bloody, every single day, until they hung me in that filthy cage. They found new ways to torture me on a daily basis. When the news of your suicide filtered down to the Dungeons, Gabranth rubbed it in my face until I wept.”

Basch disengaged himself from Ashe’s embrace, and strode to the opposite side of the room. If she insisted on hearing this, he really didn’t want to be touched when he told her. What happened to Basch disgusted him…if Ashe was anything like him, she most likely would feel disgust as well.

He stood by the open window, and reveled in the late-autumn sun as it warmed his old bones. The wind, as it wafted through the window and mussed his hair, tasted of winter. He existed for the days like this, because when he was in the Dungeons he never expected to see the outside world again. He appreciated every subtlety on the wind, every single nuance of morning, every trace of life that played with his senses, sharpened his mind, and tousled his hair. Six years ago, when the Archadians threw him into the Nalbina Dungeons, he nearly gave up on everything when they brutalized him. He nearly gave up the ghost of his life because he had nothing left to live for.

“I wasn’t kept in the Black Watch all the time, Ashe,” said Basch. “Every once in a while, the powers that be thought it was a good idea to allow the other prisoners to do what they wanted with me. Usually, they threw me in the Pit with a condemned prisoner, and that prisoner would beat me to a pulp. They were always condemned to die, because Gabranth wanted no chance that the prisoner would talk. There was one time, though, that a giant brute of a prisoner had other things on his mind besides pummeling me senseless.”

He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the window frame. “He dragged me somewhere—I never knew where, because he had nearly beaten my brains out of my ears.” His lips curled in revulsion. “He violated me.”

Ashe’s hands stole to her trembling mouth. “Oh, Gods.” She reached for Basch. “Darling…”

He stepped away from her open arms. “No, don’t touch me. I can’t let you touch me right now.”

Her arms slowly dropped to her sides. “I want to comfort you. Will you allow me that?”

He crossed his arms and turned his body slightly away from Ashe. “I’m not finished.” He stared pensively out the window. “I…he did his level best to humiliate me as much as he could. I can still remember what he considered words of endearment.” The violating monster’s mocking voice rang in his ears, taunted Basch with his knowledge of the human body, before Basch shooed the voice away. “He was…skilled.”

Tears stood in Ashe’s eyes. “Galtea wept…what do you mean?”

Basch studied his boot tops, humiliated. “Despite everything I did to fight him off me, I could not stop him…and then he had me. He invaded me, tore me, made me bleed—and he got a rise from me.”

Ashe’s mouth opened in loathing. “ _What_?”

He sighed, and it sounded like cold November wind through dead grass. “I tried…I tried so hard to fight it. There was nothing I could do to stop my body from responding. There was nothing in this world that I wanted less, but my body refused to cooperate. And then he saw what he had done to me.” Basch shuddered helplessly. “He saw what state my body was in, and took full advantage of it. As I said, he was very skilled.”

Ashe tutted once behind him. _Now comes the humiliation,_ thought Basch, as he hesitantly turned to his heart’s blood. _Now comes the condemnation._ He beheld his love, and her hands were outstretched, supplicating, as she approached his trembling form.

She cradled his face in her hands. “Never, for one moment, believe that you have sullied yourself. You were taken advantage of, and you had no control of your body. And if you think I will condemn you for it, then you are mistaken.” She embraced Basch. “I can’t take this pain from you, but I can be here for you.”

“You are extraordinary,” said Basch, his voice shaking, as he ran the back of his hand down Ashe’s cheek. “I expected you to condemn me for what happened in Nalbina. Forgive me for that.”

He dropped his head on Ashe’s shoulder, drawing strength from his wife. Ashe held him. She would be strong for him, but she quailed from Basch’s admission. _My poor darling_ , she thought, _I wish I_ could _take this pain from you, truly!_ Aloud, she said: “Basch, the head cook sent word that supper was nearly ready. He's made an entire side of Nanna, fresh from Jahara. It'll be barely sufficient for your appetite, but it should be done now. Shall we go eat?”

Her teasing words had the desired effect on Basch. His mouth curled against Ashe’s neck, and he chuckled. “That sounds wonderful.” Basch raised his head, and touched Ashe's lips with the tips of his fingers. “You must understand something. That happened to me over five years ago. I've come to terms with it, but I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to sully our union with old, dark memories.”

Ashe sighed. “I'm sorry I dredged those memories up. If I knew, I wouldn't have asked.”

“I know. This isn't your fault. I'll go to Nalbina.” Basch tilted Ashe's chin up, and kissed her lingeringly. “I will be all right.”

“Are you sure?” Ashe frowned. “I'll find someone else...”

He shook his head firmly. “It's all right. I wouldn't trust anyone else with this kind of information.” Basch's face darkened. “And it's time I faced my demons. I am no longer a prisoner. I can face him. And I _will_ get the information we need.”

Ashe took Basch's hand. “Tomorrow, then?”

Basch nodded. “Yes. After a solid night of sleep. After breakfast, I'll go to Nalbina.”

 

 


	5. Lo, Here Lay My Heart

Dawn stained the purplescent sky ocher as the sun peeked over the horizon. The watery, fey light glinted off Ashe’s hair and haloed her sleeping countenance. A strong, scarred hand touched her face with infinite gentleness. She was so fresh, so young—why did she want him so badly? He ran his fingers under her bangs to sweep them from her brow.

_Blood has stained these hands…and no amount of water will ever wash it away,_ he thought. _I’ve killed. I’ve seen countless deaths, and the whole of Dalmasca curses my name still. I am virtually the walking dead. I am fifteen years her senior, damaged goods, and yet…she still wants me. Why?_

His manhood stood at attention, demanding that Basch wake his wife and sate his desires. He ignored his hunger for a few moments longer, so as to admire Ashe as she lay sleeping in the crook of his elbow. In sleep, Ashe turned her head slightly into Basch’s shoulder and smiled slightly. Basch felt the curve of her lips on the skin of his chest. _That_ decided it.

Powerful arms wrapped about her slight form, and drew her close. She stirred, and opened her remarkable gray eyes. Ashe smiled as she rubbed sleep from her face. “Hello.”

“Hello.” He drew his hands down her bare back as she shimmied closer to his own nakedness. He felt his engorged member stir again, more insistently. He buried his face in the valley of her neck and inhaled deeply. The rich Rozarrian soaps she used in her toilette; the musky oils she applied to her hair when she dressed it every morning; the tang of her flesh—the scent of her intoxicated his senses, made his head spin.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Ashe,” said Basch, as his breath coarsened. “I only wanted to draw you close.”

A small, sure hand drew down his broad chest, eliciting a decidedly unmanly chortle from his lips. “It’s all right, Basch. I can’t think of a better way to be woken.”

Delicately, and with a surety she didn’t show when they were first wed, Ashe dipped her hand lower and grasped that which throbbed and swelled. He drew breath sharply over his teeth, before grunting in obvious pleasure. Blood crashed into his skin, mottling it. His arms tightened on Ashe’s body.

He molded his body to hers as he drew her lower lip into his mouth. Not to be outdone, Ashe closed her teeth on Basch’s upper lip and bit down, _hard._ He snickered slightly, even as he winced from the pain. Neither of them remembered much from their first rendezvous, as they were both under the influence of a powerful drug. But from what he could remember, she certainly didn’t exhibit _this_ degree of savagery. Moreover, he could not say that he _didn’t_ expect this from his Queen.

_Not that I’m complaining_ , thought Basch as he slowly drew the tip of his tongue over Ashe’s lips, parting them. He’d had his share of women over the years, and the ones that acted with decorum in public and a lack of the same in the bedroom drove him mad with want.

Ashe drew her fingers down the velvety skin of his cock and had to stifle a small chuckle. She knew full well what a penis looked like (she _had_ been married before, after all). The sight of one, however, fully engorged and jumping around like a drop of water on a hot skillet, made her want to burst into hysterical giggles. She bit down on her desire to laugh at her husband as she slid her palm over his bare rump. His body heat spiked, and he flipped Ashe onto her back.

“Basch,” Ashe panted, “can it be like the first time?”

A roguish smirk creased his face. He shook his head slowly in negation.

“Oh,” said Ashe, slightly disappointed. Their handfasting night…gods. She had been nervous, and a bit frightened of her new husband. From what she could remember from their first tryst, he was gentle but excruciatingly intense. The sensations were almost agonizing in its profoundness. Their first night as husband and wife was no exception. Basch gave to her to the same sweet, gentle love they shared the night of the bonfire...but he also treated her to something she never expected.

-=-=-=-=-=-

About that night? They lay in their deep bed, close enough to touch. Basch had reached out to caress her, and she had shied away. When he asked her if she was all right, she had asked him to extinguish all the lamps.

“Why, Ashe? Are you ashamed of me? Do I frighten you, still?” Basch had grinned at her, put her at ease, and she blurted the truth. 

“I—I feel so exposed with all the light in here. I feel like the whole world is watching.”

He had gotten out of bed, and extinguished the lamps…save one. He lowered the flame until it glowed richly, a mote of amber in the darkness. “I want you to be comfortable, love, but I still want to see you. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes.” She was breathless as he slid between the cool sheets and embraced her. His mouth had run gently over her body, and she kindled to his tenderness. His questing tongue trailed down her belly and he kissed the cup of her navel. She had shuddered…and then froze when he moved his mouth further down.

“What…what in the world are you _doing_?” She had pulled herself into a half-sitting position, suddenly self-conscious.

Basch had looked up at her then…and chuckled, despite himself. Every single woman he had ever slept with had almost _demanded_ this, and Ashe…gods, she really _was_ as inexperienced as he originally thought. He had then brought his body parallel to hers, and smiled into her eyes. “I’ll be gentle, Ashe.”

“But…” Ashe’s mouth had twisted slightly. “Doesn’t it…erm, disgust you?”

His eyebrows had vaulted to his hairline. “No, love.” He ventured southward again. “If you want, we’ll do it once…and if you don’t like it, we’ll never do it again.”

“Really?” The question had barely left her lips before her whole body stiffened. Basch chuckled again, and the vibration had sent Ashe’s head a-spin.

He then lifted his countenance as he grinned at his wife. “Want me to stop?”

“Nuh…uhn… _no_! No, don’t stop!”

“I didn’t think so,” he had said, and finished the job quite handily.

-=-=-=-=-=-

“So,” said Ashe in a cajoling, wheedling voice, “you won’t do… _that_ …for me, all the time?”

“No.” Basch propped his elbow on his pillow, and rested his head in the cup of his palm. “Consider that a treat from me…from time to time.”

Ashe laughed. “That figures.” She grasped him again, squeezed him—oh, it hurt quite a bit, but it also felt so damned _good_ , and this time Basch could not rein in his mounting desire any longer. His breath came ragged as he grasped Ashe’s knees. He rolled his body weight onto his palms, effectively pinning Ashe to the bed.

Basch pressed his face close to hers, and for the first time Ashe felt a mote of fear slip into her heart, along with the tidal wave of desire. The subtle mix of emotions made her head spin deliciously. Basch dipped his head to her breast. He drew his teeth across her areola, hard enough to cause the delicate skin to welt. She gasped, shuddering. Her body begged Ashe to let Basch take her, but her rational mind begged her to stop. Her trembling voice sounded raw, and full of her desire.

“Please,” Ashe gasped. “Please don’t hurt me, Basch.”

Basch kissed her deeply, with a passion he didn’t realize he had until just then. Gods, he wanted to take her so badly. He wanted to pillage her body, to take her and sink himself deep in her and sate this hunger for her. Her words shook him back to reality for a second, just long enough to affirm his intentions. 

He locked eyes with his heart’s blood. “Never, Ashe. I will never hurt you, but I _will_ ravage your body…and I will not be gentle,” he growled. “You’ve toyed with me for long enough, love.” He slapped her hand away from his throbbing, complaining cock—and with no preamble whatsoever, slid into her. He sank himself deep, grinned at Ashe as he retreated, sank himself deep again. 

Pleasure like she had never imagined enveloped her being. It hurt, just a wee bit…but it did not negate the incredible, spiraling pleasure that began in the pit of her belly and spread out to her extremities. Ashe reacted with savagery that even she didn't know she possessed. She reached out blindly, as if she were caught in a riptide, and pressed her hands to Basch’s back. She grunted once, like an animal, before she tore at his heaving back with her nails.

He threw his head back, momentarily stunned by the firebrands that trailed from nape to posterior. That lovely fire drew inward and enveloped him. The sensations were dizzying. Without losing his increasingly manic rhythm, he lowered himself to his elbows and covered Ashe’s quivering body. He buried his fingers in her hair and yanked on it, hard enough to elicit a yelp of pain from his wife.

Basch attacked her throat with his teeth, and Ashe tilted her chin up to allow him better access, moaning low in her chest. Basch bit down. His body trembled on the edge of orgasm, and he had to stop a moment lest he end their tryst right then. Basch raised his head and winced at the laceration he left on Ashe’s neck. It bled feebly.

Led by an uncontrollable urge that even he didn’t understand, he ran his tongue along the bite wound. He tasted her blood, and his body stuttered. Again, he had to fight back his release.

Ashe did not scream at him to stop; no, his indelicate ministrations had quite the opposite effect. Her own breath had coarsened until she fairly panted with want. She cried out once, harshly—before she brushed Basch’s shoulder with her lips and bit him so hard that his hot blood spurted out around her teeth.

He pressed his lips together to stay the cry of agony. What erupted from Basch’s throat was savage and barbaric; he was now utterly lost to the ebb and flow of passion. He suddenly heaved himself to his knees as he tossed Ashe's legs over his shoulder, and redoubled his efforts. He rocked his hips rhythmically, taken by the imperative of the desires of his body, and Ashe rocked with him.

Some time later (neither of them knew just how long—time had effectively stopped for them both), Ashe’s body bent into a bow. She cried out to the still, ocher morning—cried out her affirmation to the man who carried her heart in the palm of his hand. When he felt his wife’s release, it spurred him to his own. Basch lowered himself to his elbows, dipped his mouth to Ashe’s ear, and whispered his own affirmation.

“ _Ashe…oh, Ashe!”_

He squeezed his eyes shut as his hips stuttered, found their rhythm again, and suddenly surged forward. He was helpless…caught in the tide of his own release and the terrifying, dizzying realization that she owned him—body and soul—for all eternity. He cried out savagely.

The strength he previously exhibited leaked out of his arms and legs, and he weakly dropped to Ashe's body, covering it with his own. He rested his cheek on her breast. After many moments, Basch raised his head. “Good grief,” he said weakly.

“ _Hrrm_ ,” replied Ashe when she could speak. “Let me guess... _that's_ going to be something of a treat for us, as well. Too much of what we just did, and we'll likely kill each other.”

“Agreed.” Basch dropped to the bed. He rolled to his back, and with a hiss rolled back onto his side. He curled around Ashe as he favored her with an admonishing glare. “I didn't expect you to do what you did.”

“Your back?” She touched his shoulder, and traced the purpling, still-seeping bite. “Or this?”

He glanced at his shoulder. “I hardly feel that.” He rolled his shoulder in its socket, and winced. “I'll feel it later, though.”

“It's a shame that I haven't been able to touch the Arcane since Vayne fell,” said Ashe reflectively. “I would be able to heal you in a trice.”

Basch lay his head on Ashe's, and kissed her sweaty brow. “It doesn't concern me, Ashe. The wounds you have inflicted will heal, and I'll have a few more scars to add to my collection. The loss of the Arcane is not an issue with me.”

They lay twined about each other in companionable silence. Ashe finally broke it, and what she said jarred Basch badly.

“Basch?”

“What is it, love?”

She touched her belly. “This is my fertile time, and I know we should be careful, but...do you think that you have given me a baby?”

His body stiffened minutely as his eyes widened in shock and dismay. In their passion, he had forgotten about that. Bad enough that the Plague was in the process of destroying Ivalice...worse still was the idea of making another orphan...and worst of all, the infinitesimal chance that the Plague would touch the child _in_ _utero_.

“Whatever may be, will be, Ashe.” He drew her close, and quailed inside. “Come what may, we all get what we desire.”


	6. Journal 2

_24 October 711 O.V._

_I fear._

_I fear for my husband's life. He goes to Nalbina tonight. He faces a demon that I unwittingly dredged from his past. I didn't mean to do this to him, but it is imperative that we find the nature of what kills my people. I trust no one else to this task._

_On a more personal note, I am afraid of what I might have done to my marriage. I try, without much success, to become pregnant. It does not help matters when Basch refuses to come home for weeks and months at a time. And I push. I push for little ones, and Basch resents me for it. This morning, he and I made love, and Basch threw caution to the wind. It was wonderful, but tainted...when I told him I might catch pregnant because of it, he stiffened in my arms. He caught himself, but not in time. I could tell the mere thought horrified him._

_And this evening...I don't even want to think of what happened before he left for Nalbina. I am disgusted by my own actions._

_Have I made a grave error of judgment?_


	7. Schism

_"They died by the hundreds, both day and night, and all were thrown in...ditches and covered with earth. And as soon as those ditches were filled, more were dug. And I, Agnolo di Tura... buried my five children with my own hands...And so many died that all believed it was the end of the world."  
Agnolo di Tura, At Siena_

-=-=-=-=-=-

The day after Basch returned to Ashe, he prepared himself to leave again. He insisted on going himself to Nalbina, but his heart curdled at the mere thought. His head reeled with the many scenarios that he might face when he presented himself to Fowles, the animal penned in Nalbina. 

He left his home—and his wife—with a heavy heart. The chasm between them had yawned wide this evening. They shared themselves that morning, and gladly. That evening, they tried to say goodbye to each other without words. After Ashe's admission that she was fertile, Basch could not bring himself to do so.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Earlier.

They lay twined about each other. In the normal course of things, all it took for Basch to rise to the occasion was Ashe's nakedness and her closeness to his own. As it was, however, not even that would suffice. Despite all of Ashe's gentle ministrations, he could not bring himself to arousal.

“The forge is hot, darling,” said Ashe, teasingly. She drew her fingers across the supple skin of her breasts, favoring Basch with a slow, sweet smile. “Won't you temper your iron tonight?”

“I want to, love.” Basch made a small sound of frustration in his throat. He smiled, despite his frustrations. “I wish I had control of it.”

“Well,” said Ashe, “If you cannot bring iron to the forge, then I suppose I have to fan the flames.” With that, she dipped her head low and took him into her mouth. 

Basch sighed deeply. Ah, such sweetness! Ashe knew, almost instinctively, how to make his head spin with desire. He stroked her hair, but just as he began to relax into Ashe's ministrations, Basch's head spun with his own niggling thoughts.

He wished he could give Ashe what she wanted. Oh, he wanted the same as she, with every fiber of his being. He wished they could have a slew of little ones to fawn over and love and spoil. Now, with the Plague raging, they could not. He could _not_ impregnate her. Not now. 

As he thought of such things (and such things were usually counter-productive when trying to fan the flames of desire), Basch could not bring his soldier to attention. Ashe grunted once. “You're a stubborn one.”

“He is,” said Basch, waggling his eyebrows at his inamorata. “Perhaps he needs a good lashing.” 

“Just what I thought,” said Ashe. Her soft, pink tongue darted out and ran along the underside of his cock. After a few minutes of Ashe's patient ministrations, he stiffened. Ashe drew her body up, and straddled Basch. She smiled sweetly at him. “Maybe I should have looked into blacksmithing.”

Basch chuckled as he brought his hands up and settled them on her hips. “I suppose you should have.”

She slowly settled on him, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from her husband. She rocked on him, and he rocked with her. Ashe's head lolled on her shoulder, breasts heaving, and made little sounds of ecstasy.

Time passed for the couple in this fashion, the way it normally does when locked in the throes of bliss. Time for them had effectively stopped. Nothing mattered to them except the beating of their hearts. 

Basch tilted his head back, and grunted deep in his throat. His eyes, hazy with desire, beheld his wife as she loved him. It drove him to the edge.

_...Ah, my love..._

_...Ashelia, my finish comes..._

_...wait..._

_...WAIT...!_

His eyes widened, as Ashe's legs clamped tightly around his hips. He was able to stay his finish with his horror alone, but only for a moment. She would not release him, and then he would do what he did not _want_ to do. With great effort, he heaved his hips up, and flipped Ashe on her back. She flopped to the bed, an indignant noise erupting from her lips. He descended on her savagely, a _moue_ of disdain on his countenance. The sex lasted a few moments longer, before he tore his member from her and spent himself between her thighs.

Ashe rose to her elbows, and beheld the mess on the sheets. “Basch...what in the _world...?”_

“Do you realize what you _ask_ of me?” Basch pushed his face into hers pugnaciously. He took her shoulders and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. “I said _no_ , Ashe! _I will_ not _give you what you desire!”_

Riled, Ashe heaved herself from under Basch. “You presume too much! I merely wanted...” 

“You want a Gods-damned _baby!_ I do _not!_ Do not force this upon me!” He pulled himself out of their bed, and yanked his pants on. Basch caught Ashe's eyes with his own. “I resent you for this.”

Ashe gasped miserably. “You don't mean that, surely!”

Without another word, Basch whirled around, showing Ashe his back. He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Later.

Basch donned his traveling cloak, and made his way to the door. From behind him, Ashe touched his neck. He stopped, but did not turn around. “Ashe,” he said, “I love you...but what you did to me tonight was uncalled for. What you did hurt me.”

In a small, pained voice, Ashe said, “I know. Forgive me.”

Basch turned around to behold Ashe. “I wish I could impart on you the gravity of my reasoning. I want children, Ashe. But not now.”

“Because of the Plague, and because we aren't truly married.” Ashe laughed derisively. “Damn it all. Why can't we live a normal life like everyone else?” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Why in the world couldn't we have met in another life, where I didn't even need to marry you to have children?” 

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Basch reached out and brushed Ashe's cheek, as he kissed her lingeringly. He could not bring himself to touch her further. “I have to go, Ashelia.”

“All right, Basch. I'll see you when you return. Be safe,” she said.

She watched him go, and it was the last she saw of him for quite a while.


	8. The Beginning of the End

Basch hadn't seen the dank, pestilent walls of the Nalbina Dungeons in almost four years. It sickened him that there were still prisoners here, but for every twenty imprisoned due to politics, there was one man in gaol for something truly vile.

He prowled the dark halls, and peered into open cells. Here—in this cell was the man that stole millions of Gil from his clients to fund his prostitution ring. And there, there was someone that violated little boys. And there, alone in a corner, was the poor excuse of a man killed that his own mother for no other reason besides malice. 

Basch quickened his pace. He didn't want to be here any longer than he had to. He knew where the monster was, and there was no reason to linger in the common area overlong. He knew the monster was in solitary. Not to keep the rest of the population safe—the men imprisoned here were considered the dregs of society—but to keep the guards safe. 

Oh, they didn't keep this man in the Black Watch—oh, no, that particular hell was reserved for Basch fon Ronsenburg alone. The monster was locked away in a small room, at the far end of the prison. As far as Basch knew, the only time the 'good' doctor was let out was to humiliate him, over five years ago.

Here...here it was. Basch laid his hand on the stout oaken door. For the first time since donning it, he felt powerful and imposing in Gabranth's armor, and was glad he chose to bring the suit of armor with him to Dalmasca. He unlocked the door, and entered.

The room stank of madness, and the walls were covered with filth. The monster had decided it fitting to cover the walls with his mad ramblings—charcoaled words were scrawled from ceiling to floor. Basch scanned the monster's incoherence, and realized it wasn't as incoherent as he originally thought. He had culled the words directly from The Book of Orgain-Cent. Tales of the commoner who became a knight...Basch nearly laughed out loud. He remembered the well-loved tales of his boyhood. His mother had a timeworn copy of Orgain-Cent, and read its tales to him and Noah almost every night.

The murderer lay sprawled across his cot, his back leaning against the wall behind it. He smiled cordially at Basch when he entered his personal hell. “Ah, a Judge Magister...and what did I do to deserve this honor, Judge Gabranth?”

Momentarily startled that the man knew who he was (even though Basch merely impersonated Noah), Basch crossed his arms and tried not to look as disgusted as he felt. “You have the unfortunate bad luck to know something about the Great Plague. I need information from you, Doctor Fowles,” said Basch.

“Well, now—I haven't heard that title in a long, long time,” said Fowles. He folded his arms behind his head, and reclined back on his cot. “My services aren't cheap. I am a doctor, after all.”

“So be it.” Basch inclined his head at Fowles. “Do you remember the prisoner you were given free rein with, perhaps five years ago?”

“How could I _not_ remember him? He was the Kingslayer. And sweet, too.” Fowles's eyes grew misty with recollection. “Never did I have someone in sway that was so much fun to break. He sobbed and mewled and begged me to leave him alone. And then he seemed to enjoy my ministrations. Now, I'm not one to leave a job half-finished, so I finished _him.”_ Fowles grinned maliciously. “He _wept_ when he came in my mouth.”

Basch ground his teeth. _Bastard,_ he thought, _you bastard!_ Aloud, he said, “Would you like to see him again?”

Fowles eyes lit up. “I won't say no to that!” Fowles worried his lower lip slowly, his tongue visible at the corner of his mouth. “Yes...yes. I think that would be a grand payment for my services. So, Judge Gabranth—what did you need to know?”

“Tell me of the nature of the Great Plague.” Basch advanced on Fowles. “Tell me what you know about it communicability, and the death rate.”

Fowles blinked in surprise. “The Great Plague? Tell me, has there been a resurgence of the Plague?” Basch nodded, and Fowles grinned. “It's no surprise. Unless you find a way to neutralize the threat—which no one had, to my knowledge—you run the risk of a resurgence. I'll bet it came back with a vengeance, and even your Mages and your Chemists cannot find a way to neutralize it.”

“Just so. We need to know why.” Basch spread his hands. He had to tread lightly with Doctor Fowles. If Basch riled him, the knowledge locked away in what passed as this man's mind would remain untouchable, forever out of their reach. “What about its communicability?”

Fowles laughed, and the raucous cacophony bounced off the walls of his cell. “Need you ask that?”

“Of course. We haven't found the cause of its rampant spread.” Basch shrugged. “I hoped you knew.”

Fowles simpered at Basch. “Of course I do. I'm shocked the doctors and alchemists topside haven't figured it out yet. Have you noticed the increasing rate of death in the Death Doctors themselves? Despite the fact that they take all necessary precautions, they still die. Do you know why, Judge Magister?”

When Basch shook his head, Fowles spread his hands expansively. “Not all of the Death Doctors touch the victims of the Plague, but some do...and they, in turn, touch their friends, their families—the Plague doesn't discriminate, it just _is,_ and in the end, every race that is touched by the Plague dies.”

Under Judge Gabranth's mask, Basch's countenance turned parchment white. _The Plague spreads indiscriminately? Gods...my Gods._ “How is it spread, Doctor Fowles? The death rate...what is it?”

Fowles raised his eyebrows mock-sympathetically. “The plague is one hundred percent communicable through touch, Judge Magister. And the mortality rate? I'll make an educated guess and say, erm, possibly as high as ninety-nine percent.” Fowles flashed Basch a gap-toothed, dingy grin. “I certainly hope you have taken the necessary precautions, Judge Magister.”

Basch felt the room spin crazily. His mind reeled with the implications. 

_Oh Gods I've touched those dying of the Great Plague I've already been infected I'm a Plague-carrier I've killed the Emperor I've killed my friends oh Gods I've killed everyone I'm going to die OH GODS I'VE KILLED ASHE..._

Basch clamped down on his vertigo, fought the urge to faint, fought the urge to vomit. “Good Gods,” he said weakly.

“Ugly, isn't it?” Fowles shrugged, unconcerned. “It matters not to me. I've been here in this pit for years. If I die from the Plague, it would be a release from this hell. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to bring my sweet little toy to me, post-haste. He's had five years to heal from my ministrations, so it'll be more fun to break him again.” Fowles sighed gustily. “It's been so long since I've broken someone. Since the hooraw of my capture, trial, and imprisonment, my wife has sadly deserted me.” He raised his eyebrows in mock-sadness as the corners of his mouth curled. “I'm just _so_ lonely.”

_“Are_ you,” said Basch colorlessly, as he snapped the chin-guard of his helmet open with one callused thumb. “You want him that badly, Fowles?” Basch reached up, and removed his helmet. He locked gazes with Fowles, and relished the good doctor's expression of shock and dismay. “You have him.”

Fowles took in Basch's scarred countenance, and immediately recognized him for who he was. His eyes widened, and he gasped. After recovering from his initial start, Fowles flashed a sunny smile at Basch. “Well, now! Don't _you_ look well-fed and rested! This might be more fun than I thought. Isn't it a capital offense to impersonate a Judge, Kingslayer?” Fowles rose, and Basch once again was taken aback by the man's sheer size and general bearing. 

“Perhaps, but that is neither here nor there.” Basch snapped his hilt guard open. 

Fowles smirked. “Try to kill me, if you must. I don't think you can. I would be on you in an instant. I will have you again, no if's, and's, or but's about it. And then you will die by my hand. Make no mistake.”

“No. I am _your_ Death.” Basch pulled off his gauntlets. He showed Fowles his empty hands, and reached out over the space between the two men. His bare hand slid across the giant doctor's face. 

Fowles sneered lecherously. “So you _do_ care for some sport, then?”

Basch took his hand away, smiling himself, and replaced his gauntlets. He let Fowles stand before him in silence. When he was done, Basch narrowed his eyes at Fowles. “No. I have no inclination to do that. But I want you to die.” Basch mirrored Fowles's malicious sneer. “I am a Plague carrier.”

Fowles's reaction was instantaneous and violent. He pushed past Basch, and hammered on his cell door. “Pestilence! Plague in here! Death! _Death! Let me out of here, for Galtea's mercy! LET ME OUT!”_

“I thought you were unconcerned about dying at the hands of the Plague, Fowles,” said Basch from behind the giant doctor. “I am your release from this hell, Doctor. Isn't that what you wanted? Or was that just a ruse?”

He turned to Basch, hands curling into fists. “You son of a _whore!_ You'll _die_ , now!'

Quick as lightning, Basch unsheathed his broadsword, and buried it in Fowles's shoulder. The momentum thrust Fowles against the heavy wooden door to his gaol. The broadsword exited Fowles's shoulder and pinned him most effectively against the fragrant oak of the door. Fowles grunted once. 

Basch stepped away from the Doctor. “I will not be your death...not today. Your captors will release you from my sword's embrace, and you might even be able to heal your wound if you know how to without magick.”

The Doctor turned his head and spat blood. “You knew?”

“I _knew.”_ Basch shrugged. “Topside, we have been struggling with this conundrum for months. Know you something about this, Doctor?”

_“Pfft_...even if I knew, you think I'd tell you _now?”_ Fowles gazed roguishly at Basch sidelong. “After all you've done to me, you cad...I don't think I want to be your playmate anymore.”

“Shame,” said Basch. “We could have had so much fun together. Too bad that last bit of knowledge is going to your grave with you.” Basch waggled his head back and forth slowly, his lower lip pooched in thought. “Could be a day, or a week, or a month...but either way, you are going to die a painful death. Thanks to me.”

Fowles gaped at Basch. “Damn you...damn you to _Hell!”_

Basch nodded once, slowly. “Yes. I am damned to Hell. I will see you there when I arrive, won't I?” Basch patted Fowled on his untouched shoulder. “If you're lucky, then your true punishment will be a short, merciful one. When that happens, one of my nightmares will die...with you.”

Fowles gasped once, before he railed insults at his would-be executioner. Grunting, Basch pushed the door open. He walked past Fowles's shrieking form, and exited his cell. 

As he left the Dungeons, Basch wrote his final letter to Ashe in his head. He decided that he would never return to Dalmasca—or Ashe—again. He had done enough damage to his loved ones. He was the author of their eventual (and certain) deaths. 

Better to atone for the death of everything he loved by removing himself from the equation. Better to disappear forever, and die cold and alone.


	9. Journal 3

_05 December 711, O.V._

_I have received word—finally—from Basch today. His letter frightened me. He was able to get only snippets of information from Doctor Fowles. I fear the Doctor knew as much about the Plague as we did. The only bit of information that Fowles revealed (that we did not know about) is that the Plague is indiscriminate in its destruction. It is shocking and dismaying. Initially, we thought that only Humes were able to contract the Plague. Either we were sorely wrong in that aspect, or the Plague has mutated into something more virulent._

_I suppose we never knew about the Plague touching other races, because we never inquired about it. So much for Hume hubris. If it weren't for that, perhaps we would have been able to pool our resources with the other races of Ivalice and find a cure...stop its inexorable march...anything! We could have done something about the march of death before it was too late._

_There is something else that troubles me. Basch seemed so...distant, in his letter to me. This last letter seemed to be almost an afterthought, compared to his other missives. I do not know what to make of it, but the next time I see him, I'll let him know just how cross I am...and then he'll have to make up for it. Repeatedly._

_All joking aside, I still worry for him. He may have gone to Archades to assist Larsa, but still, I fear for his safety. He has other things besides himself and I to worry about, now._

_Perhaps I'll tell him to travel to Eruyt Village and speak with Jote. Perhaps she'd know more about the nature of the Plague. She, and her peoples, have a preternatural knack to ascertain information from their milieu. I suppose when they 'speak to the Wood', they really are touching their surroundings with all their senses. I hope that she can tell us more about the Plague, as her people are now at risk._

_More later. May Galtea light our path._

-=-=-=-=-=-

From a letter addressed to Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca, dated 03 December 711, O.V.

_Ashelia,_

_I saw Fowles today. He gave me troubling news. The Plague has the ability to strike down every race on Ivalice. Besides that bit of distressing news, he gave me no other new information. Everything else he told me, we already knew. I fear this is far worse than we've ever imagined._

_Please, for my sanity, do not leave the Royal Compound. There is no guarantee that you will be spared from the Plague if you leave the safety of the castle._

_Larsa has called for me. I go to Archades, to help maintain order there. I know not when I will return, but rest assured we will see each other again, very soon. You are always in my thoughts._

_Love you._


	10. Behold, A Pale Horse

Journal entry: 12 July 712, O.V.

_It is done. Our world as we know it is finished. The Plague has proven to be deadly to every single race it touches. No one will be spared. We are all doomed to die. By the time the Wheel Year begins anew, Ivalice will be populated by sewer rats and ghosts and silence._

_Basch never came home. He never sent word to me. In my heart, I think he is dead. I never had a chance to say goodbye to Basch. I never got the chance to say sorry to him, to tell him that it was a fool's errand to force him to impregnate me. Why did I push him away for something so damned trivial? And yet, I did—and look at me now._

_I am almost sure that I am widowed once again, but it hurts most that Basch died alone, and that I will eventually die alone. I am certain that I am not above the Plague, royalty or no. It will claim me sooner or later, no matter what precautions I take._

_It doesn't matter. We are all doomed to dance with Death in the end._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ivalice lay in ruins. Rabanastre was not spared from the carnage. The Great Plague was everywhere. It didn't differentiate between the old or the young. It didn't care whether it struck down the rich or the poor. Sooner or later, everyone danced with Death...everyone danced. The body count rose, until there was no one left to clear the bodies. Entire cities lay rotting in the searing late summer sun. 

Ashe watched as her people lay dying. She wondered where Basch was...and if he was alive, she wondered if he was suffering. It didn't matter. Every ounce of her being told her that he was dead. Why would he be spared? No one could get away from the Plague. 

She wondered how her friends were. She hadn't heard a single word from Vaan or Penelo, and hadn't seen hide nor hair of Balthier and Fran since the year prior. Fran, being Viera, might have escaped the ravages of the Plague due to the remoteness of her village (if they decided to take her in again), but she didn't believe her other friends fared better. 

One burning tear escaped her iron grasp. As it rolled down her cheek her control slipped, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing hoarsely. Somewhere on Ivalice, her beloved died alone. She was sure of it. But she wouldn't let it be, not if she could help it.

Ashe resolved to go out into Ivalice, to find her friends, to find survivors, and to help those who needed aid. Basch did the same, before he disappeared. 

The Great Plague had not touched Ashe, not yet. She took every precaution necessary to remain healthy. In this troubled time, her country needed its sovereign, even if said sovereign was the ruler of a necropolis. 

She grimaced slightly. She did tire easily, as of late. Her body ached terribly. She sickened when she woke, and did not feel like herself until nightfall. Her body felt strange to her. Did she contract the Plague, and not know it? It was a possibility...

Ashe placed her hands between her breasts, and swept her palms down over her body. Her fingers slid over her chest-plate smoothly before they sat atop her mountainous belly. Perhaps it was not the Plague, but late-term pregnancy that made her feel so unlike herself. 

It was too late for Dalmasca, she was sure of it. But if she did nothing, it would be the end for her, as well. Whether she left the compound or not, she (and her unborn baby) would die. But she couldn't leave it alone. She had to find a way to wipe Ivalice clean of the Great Plague.

But where to go first? Who was left that could tell her of the nature of the Plague? She could go to Eruyt, if they would receive her, or Jahara. The sages there were generous in what knowledge they had...but did they still exist?

Ashe peered over her shoulder at her travel-worn, stuffed-to-the-gills rucksack. She had already made her decision. What kept her from donning her husband's old travel-cloak, mounting Jenny, and taking off for the jungles of Golmore or the Plains immediately?

The last letter she received from Basch...he spoke of Fowles, and the tiny bit of information he was able to glean from the doctor. It wasn't enough. In truth, the information he gave to Basch was the same knowledge that the Mages and Alchemists reported. And now he was supposed to be in Archades...but why?

Archades...Larsa...Basch. Why _did_ Basch go to Archades? The Imperial Capital was the first city to fall to the Plague. Why did Larsa need help maintaining order? There wasn't anyone left to govern there. Something didn't taste right about Basch's story. 

Ashe pressed her lips together pensively. There wasn't _anything_ that kept her here in Rabanastre. Chances were very good that if she left for Eruyt today, Dalmasca would be the same when she returned to it a year from now. That knowledge saddened her. The sovereignty that she fought so hard to regain was worth nothing. 

She gazed at her hands. To Eruyt, then. She would go to Eruyt Village.

-=-=-=-=-=-

When she arrived, two weeks later, she was appalled by the village's emptiness. Ashe wandered the deserted paths, touched the cunningly wrought screens, called out to no one. 

“Who's there?” A tremulous voice called out from their tiny garden park. The voice...it was so familiar...

She made her way to the village's central meeting area. There, she found their whimsical fish pond. Someone sat, their back to Ashe, at the water's edge. Ashe gasped harshly when she realized it was Balthier. She ran to him, and stopped perhaps three feet from where he sat. Ashe's hands crept to her mouth. Balthier stretched his arms out before him, and stood. He staggered a few paces before he scowled at nothing. He was blind.

“Who is it?” Balthier said. “Gods curse it all, you know I can't see you! Tell me who in Hell you are!”

Ashe's heart ached terribly at the sight of her friend. She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Balthier,” she mumbled around her hands, “it's Ashe.”

His eyebrows rose over eyes that looked like old, cloudy marbles. He smiled winsomely at the space two feet to Ashe's left. “Well, now! I see you've had some luck avoiding the dreaded Plague, hmm?” He shrugged slightly. “Actually, I _can't_ see whether you did or not...bloody disease already took my sight. Are you well?”

“I think so,” said Ashe, and stepped closer to Balthier. Sensing her movement, he skittered away from her. 

“No...no touching, if you please. If you're well, I'd like you to stay that way.” Balthier retreated until his leg bumped the bench Ashe found him on. He sat himself with great care. 

Ashe frowned. “What do you mean by that, Balthier?”

“He doesn't want you to contract the Plague from him,” said a voice behind Ashe. She whirled around, and Jote stood behind her. “You've come here for knowledge, I wager?”

“Yes.” Ashe's head spun. Why would his touch mean anything...? Understanding crashed into Ashe, then, and her knees buckled slightly. Jote nodded once.

“Oh,” said Ashe. She clutched at her throat with one trembling hand. “It's spread...the Plague is spread...through _touch?”_

“Yes.” Jote tilted her head at Dalmasca's regent. “You _do_ know that it has decimated every race on Ivalice?”

Ashe nodded slowly. “Yes. Do you know anything else about the nature of the Plague?” When Jote narrowed her gaze at Ashe, the gravid woman stretched her fingers out to the Viera in supplication. “Please, Jote! I beg of you, _please!”_

Jote crossed her arms. “Very well.” She sighed, and it sounded like Death itself. “The incubation time varies from body to body. In some, it could take a year to manifest itself...in others, mere days. When it has shown itself, it pollutes the blood and humours of the body. The eyesight is one of the first things to be compromised, as the fluids inside the eyeball clouds. Lethargy and pain follow soon after. When the blood is poisoned, the extremities exhibit telltale red markings—the tiny capillaries and blood vessels in the skin become infected. When the blood becomes tainted, death soon follows when the blood cannot carry nutrients to the organs.”

“How long, after the blood is poisoned?” Ashe's voice shook. “How long before death?”

Jote shrugged. “It depends on the person. Some last weeks, sometimes even months. But because of the terrible pain that accompanies infection, most do not last more than a few days after the blood finally poisons the body.”

Ashe quailed inside. Outwardly, she held her arms out to Jote. “Thank you for being so forthcoming. It will help greatly in finding a cure.”

Jote stepped back two paces. She shook her head. “I will not touch you.”

Ashe blinked. “I...I understand. You are averse to touch, since the resurgence of the Plague...”

“No. You are infected.” Jote shifted her glance to Balthier, who had dropped his face in his hands, as he slumped on his little bench. 

The world swayed out of focus for a moment. Ashe rocked on her heels, and would have fallen if she didn't catch herself in time. Jote made no move to assist her. “How...how do you know that?”

“We Viera have a very acute sense of smell, child,” said Jote, with a hint of sympathy in her voice. “You stink of Death.”

Through numb lips, she addressed Jote. “Fran...is Fran all right?”

Jote's face pinched slightly. “She is here. She is dying.”

Ashe sat herself next to Balthier, and looped her arms around his now-shaking form. “My Gods. Balthier...”

Allowing the Humes a moment to condole each other, Jote collected her thoughts. She needed to tread lightly, here...“Your man was here, too,” said Jote finally.

Ashe raised her head sharply. _“What?_ When?”

“Last month. You search for him?”

Ashe nodded. “Yes. Do you know where he was headed?”

Jote pursed her lips. “The Salikawood, if memory serves me correctly. You might find him there, perhaps beyond into the Highwastes.”

Ashe stood. “I must go. Time is running out.” She embraced Balthier once more. “I'll be back.”

“With luck, I'll be here.” Balthier smiled unseeingly at his hands. “On second thought...if I'm lucky, I _won't_ be.”

Ashe touched his face. “Hold on, Balthier. For me.” She left.

Jote watched her go. Balthier sat in the deep silence that followed Ashe's departure. Finally, he addressed Jote. “I can almost hear you think, Jote. What's on your mind?”

She clasped her elbows. “Perhaps I should have told her that the disease she carries will ultimately destroy the little one.”

“The... _what?”_ Balthier turned his head to the sound of Jote's voice, and his sightless eyes bore into her. “Gods...are you telling me she was _pregnant?”_ He licked his lips apprehensively. “Galtea wept.”


	11. Love Bleeds

Journal entry: 25 August 712, O.V.

_Jote told me the nature of the Plague, and it horrified me. This whole time, we have spread the Plague by mere touch. Breath masks didn't help. Avoidance didn't help, for once contact was made, the Plague was spread. Disassociation didn't help. Even if one stayed away, something would bring Death to them._

_I think the Plague was so successful because we, as humes, need that contact for comfort. We instinctively comforted one another, and killed each other in the process. We'll never know where the Plague came from, not now, but whatever (or whoever) brought this affliction to the population of Ivalice can rest assured that it did what it was supposed to do._

_It eradicated Ivalice. It destroyed everything._

_Galtea have mercy on us._

-=-=-=-=-=-

She crossed the Salikawood, and half of the Mosphoran Highwastes in a futile search for Basch...for survivors...for anyone. There was nothing. She finally stumbled into an old encampment, some thirty miles from the Nalbina border.

Ashe recognized the encampment. The last time she and her friends traveled through here, there was a caravan stationed there. As she made her way into the site, she recognized some of the Chocobo wranglers from the caravan. They did not recognize her, and understandably gave her a wide berth.

She looked for the crystal glade where her friends usually spent the night. They spent so much time together in the various glades that dotted Ivalice. They had a certain calming presence, those crystalline monoliths, and when they stayed there, all was well, and all manner of things were well. No fiends tormented them when they stayed in the crystal glades at night. 

She assumed she'd stay there until the end, surrounded by ghosts and her memories. When she arrived, the crystal was shattered, its shards spread across the glade’s floor. She should have known. Every single crystal glade was destroyed when Novus fell. Why would this one be any different? As she turned her back on its sad remains, she came face to face with Basch.

For a moment, she faced her missing husband, and mirrored his expression. He stood before her—slack jawed, paper-white, his eyes as wide as saucers. When Ashe broke the spell she was under, she ran for him.

He held his hands out to her, palms up, and shook his head vehemently. “No! Don’t come any closer!”

“Where in the world have you _been_ , Basch? I’ve looked everywhere for you!” She advanced on him again, and again he took three hasty steps back. He looked appalled by the mere thought of her touch.

“Stay… _away_ …from me! Don’t touch me.” He grimaced in anguish. “Please!”

_“What?”_ Ashe’s hands reached for him, supplicating. “What is it, Basch?”

He slowly backpedaled from Ashe, never losing that mournful, hurt expression. “You can’t ever touch me again. I am a Plague carrier.” He ran his hand through his lengthening hair, and Ashe finally noticed the reddened, angry-looking infection lines that ran up and down his arms. His cloudy, glazed eyes had sunk deep in pouched and bruised flesh, and his ribs poked out painfully at his tunic.

Basch watched as Ashe’s smile disintegrated, before he dropped his gaze to his feet. He could not meet her eyes, not any more. “Go home, love. Forget me, for my touch is death.”

Tired of the false face she wore, Ashe savagely pushed her sleeves back. Basch’s heart shriveled when he beheld the ominous red infection-lines on Ashe’s forearms. The disease had not obscured her sight yet, but he saw the swirling, cloudy cataracts had already begun to coalesce. He then noticed how bloated she looked, how swollen, and his heart broke.

She set her mouth in a grim line, and beheld her husband. “I will not go home, Basch. I've also been touched by the Plague. It will claim everyone left on Ivalice if I do not put a stop to it…and I need your help.” She held her hands out. “Will you help me?”

Basch ignored her outstretched hands and folded her into his arms in a fierce embrace. “I would go to Hell and back to keep you from harm. I would do anything to take this disease from you.” He buried his face in her hair. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he murmured into her hair. 

Being this close to Ashe after being so far from her for so long was nearly intoxicating in its intensity. Her hair was still redolent of musk, and it brought back the feeling of home to Basch. He drew her closer, and immediately regretted doing so...as he suddenly realized why she looked so big.

“You’re pregnant.” Basch closed his eyes. “I impregnated you.”

Ashe met her husband’s gaze. “Yes, I am…and yes, you did.”

“You know the Great Plague was the reason why I didn’t want children, Ashe. And now you're pregnant. The gods jest.” Overcome, Basch released Ashe, and buried his face in his hands.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Later, they stood, hands clasped. They spoke of the Plague, and the havoc it wreaked across Ivalice.

Basch stroked Ashe's swollen hands. “I thought you were dead. The rumors of Rabanastre's fall were true, then.”

“No.” Ashe said slowly. “Rabanastre still stands, but it is a shambles. My people—our people—are dying, slowly. The Bazaar is nearly empty. My streets are quiet. Our city is intact, but it is almost devoid of people.”

“So it is with almost every city in Ivalice. The Plague was most unkind to Archades. The population there was decimated.” Basch sighed. “Larsa's cabinet, his mages, his judges...all gone.”

Ashe tilted her chin up at Basch. “Larsa?”

Silence greeted her query for a few seconds, then: “He lives. For how long, I cannot venture a guess. He has also been touched by the Plague.”

“Galtea save us.” Ashe dropped her gaze dispiritedly to her hands. “Can this be fixed by magick?”

Basch shook his head in negation. “It’s been tried. No one has been able to touch the Arcane since Vayne fell. ‘Twould be a great help to those that are suffering, but we cannot access it.”

Ashe touched her fingers to her lips in thought. “Has it been tried in concert?”

“Not here, no.” Basch pursed his lips. “It could be dangerous to whomever is trying to do it. Perhaps there is a reason why we cannot draw energy from the Arcane. Perhaps we Humes have over-used that particular gift.”

Tears welled in Ashe’s eyes, and spilled over her lower lashes. “So this _is_ it. We are just a coda to the Hume race.”

The mere thought of his race's mortality horrified Basch, so much that his encircling arm tightened. “Do not say such things, Majesty! We have overcome the Great Plague before. This time is no different.”

Ashe sighed again, utterly broken. “We overcame the Plague before, because we had access to the Arcane. The Arcane is no more. This is our end.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

They walked toward the destroyed Crystal Glade, and dispiritedly gazed at its remains. Here is where their friends would spend the night, free from the threat of the roaming fiends. Here was peace, and joy, and camaraderie. Those dreams, those hopes...they were as shattered as the great amber crystal that once stood proudly at the center of the clearing. 

Basch sat with his back to the remains of the crystal's base. Ashe snuggled her back into his belly and rested her head against his chest. She toyed with a tiny shard of the Great Crystal. Its amber glow had faded to a watery ocher. Without raising her head, she addressed Basch. “I'm sorry.”

He rubbed her arms; slow, rhythmic movements that calmed her. “For what, love?”

“For _this_ ,” said she, gesturing at her mountainous belly. “I forced this on you. And you didn't want this. More fool am I.”

“I never said I didn't want to have children with you, Ashe. I didn't want to have a child during the worst plague in Ivalice's history,” Basch said, as he ran his fingers through his hair irritatedly. He pulled a deep breath. “Forgive me, Ashe. This isn't your fault, any more than it's mine. This situation is blameless.”

Ashe wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I only wanted a baby, Basch. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't think about your feelings, only my childish dreams.” 

“I told you that it was a foolhardy thing to do, but your dreams are not childish, Ashe,” aid Basch, as he curled his arms around her middle protectively. “We shared the same dream. If things were different, I would have spat at the Law and started a family with you, and gladly.”

“But...you still are upset at my presence.” Ashe swept her hair out of her face. “I didn't want to leave the safety of the castle, but I needed to know if you were all right.”

Ashen wisps of hair blew across Basch's face. He tore a leather thong from the laces of his cloak, and tied Ashe's hair back. “I'm most definitely not all right...but I feel worlds better now that I've seen you. You’ve come and found me, but you've put yourself in danger to do so…and the little one…” He winced. Basch only hoped Ashe knew what was in store for the little one. He could not bear the thought, let alone explain what the child's fate was.

She raised her chin defiantly. “I will not live at all if I must live without you.”

“Foolish,” he replied. “I’m glad that you are here with me, but under the circumstances...” He touched her round belly. “Ashe...do you know what will happen to the little one?”

Ashe closed her eyes sadly. “Every child born to those touched by the Plague are stillborn. It didn’t matter whether the baby’s parents were infected, or if they were merely carriers. Their children were born dead.”

Wisps of hair escaped her casual horsetail, and trailed across Basch’s face. He gently brushed her hair smooth with the palm of his hand. “There is another side-effect.”

“Another injustice?” Ashe laughed shakily. “What else? Will I grow boils on my rectum? Will my hair fall out? Will my eyes explode?” She turned to Basch and choked on unshed tears. _“What more can happen to me?”_

His heart squeezed painfully. “Ashe…the scant few that were brushed by the hem of Death’s cloak—those that were touched by the Great Plague when it last ravaged Ivalice, but did not die—became barren. Nothing can reverse it, either…even when we Humes had access to the Arcane.”

Hot, angry tears leaked from the corners of Ashe’s eyes. “Every time I think of what I’ve done to this child, I die a little more inside! Now I think of the family I wanted ever since I was a little girl, and I want to take a knife to my heart! I could not stop the infection from taking hold of me, but I feel responsible because I insisted on this child. I forced this upon you, and what did I get for my troubles?” She gestured to her belly. “I got a tiny little corpse, decomposing inside me!”

Basch closed his eyes as he pulled Ashe close. “Stop. Don’t carry on, so.”

She twisted out of his embrace. Her hands wrapped protectively around her belly. “No! I ache for what I did to you, and for what I did by creating this child—for causing it to suffer needlessly before it was even born!” Her hands twined in her hair, tearing at it. “The baby stopped moving! My time is near, and I haven’t felt the baby move in two weeks!”

An old, old memory surfaced in Basch’s mind, something from his childhood. It was common practice in Landis to ban the men from the birthing room. However, if—for some unforeseen reason—the woman’s waters would not break, the midwife would call the woman’s husband to lay with her. Something flared in his mind, then. Perhaps he could not save the child, but he could ease his wife’s suffering.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Basch and Noah’s aunt was their mother’s midwife. When they were nine, their aunt regaled them with tales of their birth…over dinner, no less. “You were both so stubborn, so you were,” his aunt had said while she was deep in her cups. “Your poor mother lay screaming for twenty hours while you two insisted on staying where you were.”

“We didn’t mean to, Auntie,” Basch had said, as he grinned and nudged Noah in the ribs.

Their Auntie had raised her eyebrows and scowled at the twins. “Never mind that. I called for your Da after _that._ He did what he had to do, and you two were born just after.”

Noah had shrugged. “Just after… _what,_ Auntie?”

“Why…just after he _shtupped_ your mother, of course,” said Auntie with a shrug. “After he finished your mother off, her waters broke all over him. He had a minute or so to get his soaked trousers up over his arse before Basch was born in his lap.”

_“That's...nasty!”_ Basch had nearly retched on his dinner-plate, while Noah sniggered into his palms. 

“Your Mum and Da were shocked to see that you were so tiny, Basch, considering your mother’s belly was so damned big,” their aunt continued. “So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when you were hot on your brother’s heels, Noah. They figured that if her belly wasn’t one big baby, then it was two little ones.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Basch looked at Ashe’s belly, and cringed a bit. He knew quite a bit about twins—as he was one—and in regards to the type of twins created, he knew which parent was responsible for their coming to be that way. He knew that the mother was the author of fraternal twins, and it was simply luck of the draw when it came to identical twins. His luck had been against him in the recent past...what was to say that it was _still_ against him? What if the child in Ashe’s belly was not a large infant, but two small ones? 

He pleaded silently to himself. _Please, please let this child be a singleton! I ready myself to help my wife give birth to a dead child…I cannot bear it if they are twins!_

“Let me help ease your pain, Ashe,” said Basch, as his throat tightened. 

Ashe nodded slowly. She shut her eyes and turned her face away from Basch. 

No matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never rise. Not for this. Basch gently raised her skirts and pushed his ratty old cloak aside. He ran his hands down her belly, and cupped the mild rise of her pudendum with his hands. 

“Ashe...forgive me,” he said.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Some time after he had broken his inamorata's waters and forced Ashe's labor, a hefty, perfectly formed infant lay in Basch’s hands. His stony expression softened as he gazed at his daughter. What little hair she had was nearly translucent. The little one was flawless, lifeless. Her skin was pearly white, almost opalescent in the glow of dawn. It was difficult for Basch to discern whether the baby resembled Ashe, or if the little one looked like him. It didn’t matter, did it? Nothing mattered anymore. Every single Hume on Ivalice was all doomed to the same fate as she. 

“Basch,” said Ashe, as she reached out blindly. “May I see the baby?”

Basch shook his head slowly. Why put Ashe through his torment? Why should he subject her to the sight of what could have been? Why should he crush her heart and hand her their dead child? In truth, he did not want to let go of the infant yet. He still needed to make it real in his mind. He needed to burn the image of his tiny daughter’s face onto his heart. He needed to remember what she looked like so that when they met in the Summerlands, he would recognize her.

Ashe slowly sat up. Her body rewarded her actions with a dazzling spray of pain, a final rush of waters and the baby’s life-line. She gazed dejectedly at the mess she made of Basch’s old cloak before her eyes rested on her daughter. She held her hands out again, and this time Basch deposited the baby into her waiting arms.

The only thing that made the sight of Ashe’s perfect, dead daughter worse was the clear stamp of Basch’s features on the baby’s tiny face. One of her arms dangled over Ashe’s hand. Basch reached out and tucked her arm close to her tiny, cold body. 

“I wonder,” said Ashe, conversationally, “whether she has blue eyes, or gray. What do you think, Basch?” She cradled the baby, held her close, and rocked her lifeless body as she trembled and sobbed. Basch gathered Ashe close, and held her. 

It was in this fashion that they welcomed their daughter into this world, and said goodbye to her.


	12. Existence

They buried their tiny daughter in the Crystal Glade that afternoon. There, at the very least, her body would be free from the ravages of carrion eaters...but mainly, they wanted to remember where she was.

She had no name. Neither of her parents could think of one. When Basch built her cairn, he asked Ashe if she wanted to name her. She wrapped her hands across her chest and grasped her shoulders.

“No. She is free, now. I don't want to muddle that up and tie her to this mortal coil with something like a name.”

Basch nodded, a distracted frown laddering his forehead. He finished with the baby's cairn, and drew Ashe close. He dropped his head onto hers. “Ashe?”

Startled by the dead tone in her husband's voice, Ashe glanced at Basch. “What is it, darling?”

“I’ve…I’ve not been up-front with you, Ashe. I have something to confess.”

Ashe gazed at Basch dispiritedly. “Go on. There’s not much else that will destroy me this week.”

He steeled himself, and after an eternity let loose a flood of words that even Ashe did not expect. “When the Plague made its resurgence last year, we knew so little about its incubation period and its communicability. I thought that I was immune to its effects…that I was invincible. I swore that I would help those in need and those that lay dying, and in doing so I wrote the death-warrants of countless people.”

Ashe blinked stupidly at him, before it sunk in. “Basch…what are you saying?”

He knit his eyebrows. “I think you understand what I mean. I have been a carrier of the Plague for God knows how long. In my hubris, I thought I was immune to the Great Plague, and helped those dying from a disease that is one hundred percent communicable through touch. I passed sentence on our friends, my countrymen, and my family.

“I infected Larsa and Mags—his intended—when I returned to Archades directly after that, and he infected some of the other Judges and some cabinet members…and in turn, they infected their friends and families.” He glanced at Ashe and his mouth twisted bitterly. “I infected you the night we created our child, Ashe. I killed our daughter the moment we conceived her. I am a scourge, and I am the reason the Plague was so deadly this time around.”

Ashe shook her head, an incredulous _moue_ on her countenance. “You can’t tell me that. How can you sit there and tell me that you, and you alone, are the author of every single death on Ivalice since the resurgence of the Plague?” She grasped his chin, and turned his head to face her. “You cannot possibly think you were the only one that spread the Plague. Even _you_ aren’t that motivated.”

He snorted involuntarily, a brief exhale that wished it were a chuckle. “I may not have been the single reason that the Great Plague spread as it did, but I surely helped it along. Perhaps if I was a bit more humble, then maybe there might have been more survivors. I am to blame for their deaths because I thought I was indestructible.” He glanced at his hands, where a tic jumped uncontrollably. “I was wrong.”

She reached out and took Basch’s hand. “There’s still hope.”

“The Arcane?” Basch twined his fingers in hers. “I don’t know. Anyone that had enough knowledge about the Arcane to fool around with this notion is dead. We’re not powerful enough.”

“Don’t say that.” Ashe stroked the spot on Basch’s hand that twitched and jumped until it was still. “You and I knew enough about the Arcane to heal grave wounds and kill powerful fiends. Perhaps we _can_ purge the Plague from Ivalice with our knowledge. Is it too much to hope for, Basch?”

Basch grunted, deep in thought. “It might be. We merely dabbled in magick, Ashe. We were not High Mages.” He cast his eyes downward as a notion struck him. Oh, the idea was small—infinitesimal, really—but a tiny glimmer of hope flared in his chest. He pulled his hands out of Ashe’s and stood suddenly. He ambled around their little encampment as he muttered under his breath. “Perhaps…that _could_ work…”

Ashe watched Basch do what he only did when he was deep in thought—he paced, talked to himself, and tapped his knuckles against his teeth. She had always thought it endearing, but now… “You have an idea, don’t you? What are you thinking about, love?”

He bit the tip of his thumb pensively. “I don’t know. Well, no—that’s not right, I _do_ know—but I’m unsure whether it would work.”

She stood, and grasped his shoulders. “Tell me. You know something about the Arcane, don't you?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his lips together pensively. “It could kill me...it could kill us both, but I think it's worth it. Do you remember, when you were young, what your professors taught you about the Arcane?”

Her eyes widened slightly as her forehead furrowed in thought. “Barely. My professors gave up on me when they realized I wasn't a model student.” She glanced expectantly at Basch. “Why?”

Basch hooked a thumb at his chest. “ _I_ remember what my professors taught me about the Arcane…and it has nothing to do with Mist, or magickal force fields, or the Fey. It is in all of us, and when we speak of touching the Arcane, we speak of touching some part of ourselves...a part of our life-force that is mostly unexplored.” He scratched his chin. “We lost this power to the 'Arcane' because we lost ourselves to the Great Plague.

“When Ivalice's population began to succumb to the Plague, it became but a shadow of its former glory...much like the Arcane,” Basch continued. “We forgot what we had learned of that deep part of ourselves in the mad rush to preserve our lives.” His eyes were a-fire, his countenance exultant. “We turned our backs on the one thing that could save us from the Plague.”

Ashe gasped. “Ourselves...the power to reverse the damage is in ourselves!”

Powerful hands curled on her shoulders and squeezed, almost painfully. “ _Yes!_ We Humes have forgotten how to look within ourselves! The power to save our race...to save all of Ivalice...is within ourselves!” He drew her close. “I've forgotten, but I can re-learn what I have buried within!”

“And I will help you.” Ashe smiled wearily at her beloved. “Come what may, I will be at your side.”

Basch returned the smile, and bowed to his Queen. “By your leave, Majesty.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Well, they found what kept them from the Arcane...but how would they regain it? Basch paced the Crystal Glade, at a loss. He glanced at Ashe, who mirrored his perplexed expression. Basch approached Ashe hesitantly. “Anything?”

“I can't think of a thing. When I cast any magicks, I didn't think at _all.”_ Ashe spread her hands. “I don't know what I can tell you.”

Basch frowned in thought. “You didn't think...you cleared your mind?”

“No,” said Ashe irritably. “I mean I didn't think. I wasn't taking stock in my surroundings, nor did I take notes.” 

He blew an annoyed sigh. “I'm not asking you that. Do you remember, before we took the _Bahamut,_ when we were waylaid by Disma in the Henne Mines?”

Ashe shivered convulsively. “Don't remind me. She was a horror I'd rather soon forget.”

“Remember anyway,” said Basch. He advanced on his lifemate. “It's important. Do you remember when the fiend shrieked? As it lay dying, it shrieked...”

Gray eyes widened in recollection. “And I couldn't concentrate—I could not heal you! I thought...I thought I would lose you, then, because...”

Ashe glanced dumbly at her husband, while Basch nodded for her to continue. “Because...”

“Because—because I couldn't see the Arcane! I could _see_ the Arcane in my mind when I touched it!” She shook her head. “I can't tell you what it looked like, but I could still _see_ it! And you?”

“Yes.” Basch scratched his chin. “I couldn't tell you what it looked like, either, but I imagine it looked different to me.” 

“Maybe when we 'saw' the Arcane, it was merely a manifestation of what we all hold inside us, that something that makes it possible to tap into ourselves and cast powerful magicks.” Ashe shrugged uneasily. “But how does that explain Magicite, and the loss of its use?”

Basch quirked an eyebrow. “Elemental magick...it is something we also find in ourselves. Magicite is crystallized natural elemental magick, and its energies manifest itself around us. Since we lost the ability to tap into our own energy stores, it would make sense that we couldn't tap into Magicite, either. Why would we be able to use a magickal stone if we were blind to our own energies?”

Ashe jerked her chin at the destroyed crystal in the Glade. “And the Transporters?”

“When Venat took over the Novus, he added his energies to the explosion that rocked Ivalice when Vayne fell,” said Basch. “People on the other side of the world felt his passing. Venat was Occuria...an Undying. He was _powerful_...I'm surprised he didn't destroy the entire _world_ when he died.”

“In retrospect,” said Ashe, pursing her lips, “he _did.”_ Ashe folded her arms. “In his passing he eradicated every single life-crystal, our only means of rejuvenation save our _own_ skills.”

Basch approached Ashe slowly. “What I'm asking you to do is dangerous, Ashe. You do not have to say yes.”

“I already have, and I mean to do it. I didn't travel all this way to die a lonely, painful death in the middle of nowhere when the Arcane is within reach.” Ashe wrapped her arms around Basch's neck. “And I have you here with me. I will be victorious.”

He nodded slowly. “So be it.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Basch sat himself by the Great Crystal again, his back to Ashe's belly. The tiny cairn lay to his right. Ashe wrapped her arms around her husband's broad chest as she rested her cheek against his hair. She closed her eyes.

“Take your time, love,” said Basch. “I will not risk losing you to a failed attempt. Do not rush.”

“Would you rather lose me to the Plague if I fail?” Ashe smiled distractedly. “Be still. I'm trying to concentrate.”

She really didn't have to concentrate. Instinctively, her body knew what she had to do to heal the man in her arms...but still, the magic didn't come. She tutted. Why did it balk, the magick? She could almost see the infection...

She gasped as her hands fell away from Basch. That was it. _That was it!_ “Basch...?”

“What is it, love?”

Ashe glanced unseeingly at the far side of the glade as she wrapped her arms around Basch again. “You...you had pneumonia when you were a child.”

Basch turned his head slightly as he turned his gaze up at Ashe. “Yes. I did. How...?”

“You broke three of your ribs on the right side of your body...that's not very old, either. They didn't heal well, so I assume that it happened in Nalbina where they couldn't give a damn about your well-being. Whatever scarred the skin on your forehead also scored your skull, and that's why the scar on your forehead pops open when you take a particularly brutal blow to the head. You fractured your elbow...oh, perhaps thirty-five years ago. It's an old, old would that's long since healed, but it pains you on wet days and from overuse.”

“Auntie set that, herself,” said Basch, reflectively. He grasped Ashe's wrist. “You see this? How?”

Ashe snorted. “Who gave you gonorrhea?”

Basch laughed, hard. “I thought I got rid of _that_ over twenty years ago. How can you still see that?”

“Your body holds the memory of every illness you ever had, every single wound...everything that has happened to you in the past forty years of your life has been memorized by your body's energies. _That's_ how I healed people. That's how I saw the Arcane! I sank my awareness into the person's body, and saw the ills that needed to be tended to!”

Basch felt his eyes prickle. “Gods. Why was I so blind to that?”

“We all were.” Ashe touched her forehead to Basch's shoulder, nearly spent.

He swallowed hard. “Can you see the Plague?”

Silence. Endless silence. Then: “Yes. Give me a moment.”

The infection (and it most certainly was a virus of some sort) poisoned the blood because it attached itself to the cells that carried oxygen. The virus warped the cells, and made them unable to function. The virus also attacked the marrow in the bones, making it unable to make more cells. The virus scarred the blood vessels, rendering them nearly useless. 

Ashe sighed. “The Plague is a virus. It may be too late for some, even if we find a way to combat it.”

He nodded wearily. “Can it be fought at all?”

“Yes. The humors of the body could be purified of the virus, restoring vision and movement. The marrow could be purged of the virus, allowing the body to renew itself. The scarring can be reversed. It could be done!” She ran her hands through his hair. “The damage can be reversed if caught in time.”

Basch asked the question that gnawed at him the most—the one question that shamed him the most. “Am I beyond help?”

Silence again.

Then:

“No.”

Resigned as he was to his own death, the revelation that he could be saved crashed into him, turned his muscles to water. “I will...live?”

_“Yes!”_ Ashe burst into tears. “You are not beyond help, and nor am I!”

“Ye Gods,” whispered Basch. His voice shook. “Can you do this? Can you heal me of the Plague?”

“Yes, and even better—I can show you how to heal others, so that they, in turn, can show others,” said Ashe. She blew a shaky sigh. “I warn you, it will be a long, draining process, but you can learn again what you have forgotten.”

Basch drew a deep, watery breath. He would do whatever it took to purge Ivalice of the Plague. He would do anything for Ashe. He twined his fingers with hers. 

“Thank the Gods for you, love.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

As the couple prepared to leave the encampment, Ashe took a moment to visit the Crystal Glade again. In the time it took to tend to those dying of the Plague in camp, Basch had cleared the Glade of its broken shards, and piled them on top of the tiny cairn. Ashe approached the grave, weeping, and touched one of the larger shards.

The tiniest of sparks blazed at the center of the shard before retreating to its core. It extinguished itself there. It was so quick, it might not have been there at all...if Ashe hadn't seen it with her own eyes.

Ashe smiled through her tears. She spoke to the cairn. “Perhaps not all hope is lost. Perhaps Ivalice will renew itself now.”

She prepared herself to say goodbye to the little body beneath the pile of rocks, dirt, and extinguished magick shards. She gazed at the head of the cairn, and frowned.

There, someone had carved a word into the slab of rock. She could see that whoever did the deed had used a piece of the crystal to scratch the surface. Tiny splinters of ocher crystal still decorated the granite. 

The word on the stone was _Hope._

Ashe touched her belly, just above the shelf of her pubic bone. There was no hope for _this_ , not anymore. When she showed Basch what to do, neither he nor she could reverse the damage done to her reproductive system. He was right. The damage done to all touched by the Plague was irreversible.

Despite recovering from the Plague, the races of Ivalice might die out, anyway. Without little ones, the world might still be populated by sewer rats and ghosts and silence...instead of it happening by Year-End, it would be in forty years...or fifty...

Strong hands wrapped around her belly. “If I had known we could be purged of the Plague, I would not have forced the birth. The little one could have been saved...”

“No, Basch. The little one was already dead. There was nothing we could do about it. You did not do anything wrong.”

“I _did.”_ Basch clenched his teeth. “It was my fault that the little one died. No matter what you might say to the contrary, it was still my fault!”

“I will not lay blame, not now.” Ashe turned and embraced Basch. “I have you back. It is enough, and I will not have you sully that with your self-flagellation.”

He tightened his arms on her shoulders. “You are right. As always.” He eyed Ashe gravely. “Are you sure it is safe to separate? We may be able to help more people by going in opposite directions, but I fear for your safety.”

Ashe nodded with surety. “I'll be all right. I have someone to see to, and you have to get to Archades, post-haste.”

“Larsa and Mags, yes,” said Basch. “I will accompany you to the Salikawood, then we shall part ways there. We shall meet again in Rabanastre, when the Wheel Year renews itself.”

They stood over the cairn for a while longer. Finally, Basch broke the silence. “I know you didn't want to name her, Ashe, but I couldn't help it. Forgive me?”

Ashe locked eyes with Basch. “It all right. It's fitting. In her loss, we still hold onto a shard of hope.” Her hand slid into her dress pocket, and closed around the tiny crystal shard that responded to her touch. “Hope will always be there.”


	13. Journal 4

_Journal entry: 26 August 712, O.V._

_We've done it. The Great Plague will die. We have won the day._

_But at what price?_

_My daughter was born dead yesterday. She was so beautiful, such a little marvel. It broke my heart to see her lifeless body in Ashe's arms. I wish things were different. If I knew we could best the Plague, I would not have forced her birth. Ashe told me that the child was already dead, but I have to wonder. What if we could have fixed what the Plague had wreaked? What if I could have projected my being into the little one's tainted body—could I have healed her? Would it have been in time?_

_It is neither here nor there. She is dead. I went against Ashe's wishes, and named the little one after I buried her. Ashe spoke of regaining hope, after all hope was lost. I think we did that, and in doing so bested the one thing that nearly destroyed everything on Ivalice. So the little one is our Hope._

_I travel with Ashe tonight, through the Salikawood. The day after next, perhaps, when we reach the Great Road, we will part ways for a while. We walk, hand in hand, but...I am separate from her. I cannot help myself. I feel I wronged her in my actions yesterday. She holds no ill will towards me, but I still I did her a grave disservice._

_I kept myself from Ashe, and she was the key in unlocking the Plague's secrets. I'm a fool. I want to re-connect with her. She is the reason I sallied forth, all those months—racked with pain, dying inch by inch, I pushed myself to find a cure for the Great Plague. I pushed my dying body to retain hope._

_Hope...I didn't tell Ashe that I recognized my own features on Hope's face. I didn't want to hurt Ashe more than I already had. I also didn't want to break down before my wife, either. I had to be strong for Ashe, in her time of suffering. I bore the brunt of her misery on my shoulders, held them both before I buried Hope. I waited until after Ashe departed the Glade to tend to the few remaining survivors in camp, before I wept over Hope's grave._

_Despite all that has torn Ashe and I asunder, I swear by my own blood that I will make things better between the two of us. She is all that I live for, now, and I will not give that up for anything in this world._

_Tonight. I will show her what she means to me, tonight._


	14. Serpentarius

A few hours after they left the encampment, Basch touched Ashe's shoulder. “Ashe, I need to talk to you about something...”

Without turning her face to his, she nodded curtly. “I do, too.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Ashe, I...”

“Why _did_ you name the baby, when I didn't want to? It hurt too much to even think about it, and you went and did it, anyway. I can't believe you'd be so damned callous.”

His eyes widened. _This_ is what she wanted to talk to him about? He readied himself to make amends with her, to close the gap between them—and _this_ was the most pressing thing on her mind? When he found his voice, it was hushed. “Please tell me you didn't say that, Ashelia.”

Taken aback by her full name, Ashe knit her brows. She recovered quickly, and sneered at Basch. “You just don't _think!_ You...”

Basch slapped her. Her words cut off abruptly, as her head rocked to her shoulder. He curled his hands into fists. “Say that again, Ashelia.”

“I...” Ashe put her palm over the sore spot, high on her cheek. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she gasped—not from shame, but pain. “What did I say?”

“Tell me again,” said Basch, through clenched teeth, “that I do not think. That I'm callous. That I do not treat you well. Tell me that I haven't given you everything you've ever wanted, without a second thought. Tell me that I could give less than a _damn_ about you!”

“I will _not!”_ Ashe shook her head hard enough to toss her hair. “You've given yourself to me. I've never seen anything but love in your eyes!”

Panting, Basch advanced on Ashe. “That's the hell of it all, Ashelia! I can't say the same thing about you! I give, and I give, and I get nothing in return. _Nothing!”_ He pointed at Ashe. “I pour my soul into an empty, bottomless vessel! I've poured so much of my being into you that I am empty now, myself!”

Ashe put her hands over her ears. “You can't _say_ that!”

Basch reached up, and tore her hands from her head. “Don't want to listen? Too bad, Highness! You _will_ listen! You are a self-absorbed, cruel _bitch!_ I don't know what I saw in you.”

“Bastard!” Ashe spat venom. “You are soulless! You stand there and judge me while your child lies under a pile of rocks in a shallow grave?”

He grabbed her shoulders, and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. “I'll take the blame for that no longer! _You_ forced her conception! _You_ decided to go against my wishes! _You_ wanted to be a selfish harridan! I was blameless when I forced her birth and signed her gods-damned death warrant. I never had the chance to know her, and yet...when she was born dead, _I_ died a little inside, too. I will _not_ accept blame for something that was entirely your fault.” His eyes widened further with the epiphany. “It was all _your_ fault! _YOURS!”_

“You want to lay blame, Basch?” Ashe bared her teeth. “When you found that you were a Plague carrier, you ran from me with no explanation. You refused to divulge information that could have saved countless lives. I can't even begin to tell you how many people I've touched before I was told by an outsider that I was a Plague carrier. That could have been avoided if you had told me what you learned from Fowles. I put my trust in you, and you crushed it under your boot.”

Hot, angry tears stood in his eyes. “Do you think I run from you because I like it? I can't talk to you anymore! Everything I say is worth nothing to you! _Nothing!_ Age isn't the only thing that separates us, Ashelia. _You_ keep me at arm's length.”

“You refused to marry me! You thought I would settle for a handfasting!” Ashe jabbed at her own chest with her thumb. “I wanted nothing more than to be married to you. You insisted that the handfasting was enough. It _wasn't!”_

His hands squeezed her shoulders, as he howled his misery in her face. “You were already my wife in my heart! The handfasting meant _nothing!_ To you, I was worth about as much as the sham that was our wedding!”

Her own tears burned. She shook her head. “No. You are worth _everything_ to me.”

He savagely dashed tears from his face. “You have a poor way of showing it.”

Ashe glared at Basch a moment longer, before she hung her head. “You're right. I'm stubborn, and self-absorbed, and I refused to acknowledge that I was the problem...not you. You—you're so submissive to me, in everything I say and do. I never thought past my needs to see to yours. I used you and our friends to reclaim the throne, and I couldn't see past my own crown when I finally had it in my grasp. I couldn't see what was really important to me.”

“That's right,” said Basch. He drew a watery sigh. “You _didn't.”_

Ashe turned slowly on her heel, walking slowly away from her inamorata, and found a hoary old oak by the road's edge. She sat under it, her back to its trunk. “I have shamed you. I used you. I trampled over your pride. I treated you like offal. You ran from me, and I blamed you for it. Had I been you, I would have run, as well.” She looked up at Basch, locked eyes with him. “I saw you grieve for Hope. You were so alone...I wanted to run to you in the worst way. I wanted to give you comfort, but I felt I deserved it more than you did. You are right. It _was_ all my fault. Basch, I am so sorry for hurting you.”

Basch sat himself next to Ashe. “I was eighteen years old, and you were three, when I joined the Order of Dalmasca. You were my charge not long after. You were strong-willed, even at that tender age, and you grew into a strong-willed woman. I was, in part, author of that. I watched you fall in love with Rasler, watched you marry your heart's blood. I watched you grieve over his death. I bore the brunt of your rage when we were reunited. I realized I loved you for who you were, despite your treatment of me. Perhaps I am still mad. Perhaps I am flogging myself bloody, but I am nothing without you.”

Ashe sobbed once. “Basch, my heart is in pieces. The only thing that can heal that is you. I can't—I _won't_ —lose you!” She moved her hands towards him, hesitantly, before dropping her hands in her lap. They twisted together there. “I won't force you. I won't tell you to forgive me. I'm sorry you misjudged me...and yourself...I'm sorry you thought you saw something in me that was not there.”

Silence descended. Basch looked at Ashe's lap, and plucked one of her hands from it. “I am sorry for saying that. I didn't mean it. I was angry, and in my anger I wanted to hurt you. To my disgrace, I succeeded. I never wanted to say what I said. You are the most important thing in my life.”

Ashe brought their clasped hands to her face, and touched the back of his hand to her mouth. “Do you want to fix what we have broken? Do you still want to be my husband?”

Basch pressed his lips together. “You know the answer to that. There is nothing I want more. Do you still want to be my wife?”

Gray eyes touched blue. “Yes.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

The days wore on, as they traveled through the Highwastes. They forgave each other for the violent argument they had, but still kept each other at emotional arm's length. They slept in separate bedrolls. Instead of enjoying each other's bodies, they did something that they hadn't ever really done. Bit by bit, they learned how to communicate with each other.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The night before they parted ways, four days after leaving the encampment, they sat curled about each other for warmth. It was still late summer, but night in the Salikawood had a bite that wasn't there two weeks ago, or even one. Ashe dropped her head on Basch's shoulder, and smiled. “It is lovely here at night.”

“It is.” He fed their campfire. “Although, I wouldn't mind a bit more chill in the air.”

Ashe briskly rubbed her hands together. “You would.” She leaned forward to tend to Basch's idea of dinner. “Who taught you how to cook?”

He threw a handful of spices into the pot. “My aunt. Why?”

“Erm...it seems as if she had about as much culinary prowess as you do.” Ashe laughed. “You don't seem to taste much of anything when you eat, besides. You hardly chew.”

Basch mock-scowled at Ashe. “Are you poking fun at Auntie? Because if she were here, I doubt you would.”

“Would she scold me?” Her words held a teasing air. “Would I get punished?”

Smirking, Basch eyed Ashe. “Methinks she'd turn you over her knee and give you the thrashing of your life.”

Smiling herself, Ashe sat back on her haunches. “What was your aunt's name, Basch?”

“Marta. She was named for my father's mother. She and my father shared many characteristics, not excluding looks.” He shook his head slowly, his face dimpling slightly. “She had a face that could stop a clock.”

Ashe's jaw dropped to her bodice. “Basch, that's terrible!”

“Truth! I didn't love her any less for it, Noah either. When our parents were cross with us—which was often—we would run to Auntie Marta. She lived next door to us, so we didn't have to run far.” His eyes grew hazy in recollection. “She was the one who taught us how to build a proper campfire. She could read and write in four different languages, and was a brilliant mathematician. She taught us how to cook on the fly. She was a sharp one, was Auntie.”

“Was she ever married?”

Basch snorted. “Imagine if you will, Ashe—me, four and a half feet tall, with dark hair, a mole on the tip of my nose, and breasts.”

“Egads.” Ashe shuddered convulsively. “I suppose not. If you looked like your Aunt Marta, I take it you got your looks from your father.”

Basch tied his lengthening hair back with a leather thong. He dipped a wooden spoon into the pot, and tasted the stew as it bubbled merrily over the campfire. He smacked his lips. “Mm-hmm. Noah and I were the spit and image of our father, save our coloring. Our mother had blond hair and blue eyes, while Da's coloring was dark.”

“I see.” Ashe held their bowls out to Basch. She would never admit to it, but she had developed a taste for the heavily seasoned rabbit stew that Basch called 'hasenpfeffer'. She hated that they had to slaughter a few sweet-tempered Plains Rabbits to feed the recipe, but they _did_ have to eat. “What happened to your Aunt?”

His mouth twisted painfully. “The Plague took her. Noah and I were eight, perhaps nine, when she died.”

“Oh.” Ashe placed her hand on Basch's arm in commiseration. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. 'Twas a long time ago.”

“Amazing,” said Ashe, “The Plague...it has rampaged for so long.”

“We had no idea, then, what killed Auntie, us being so young, but the Death Doctors were there the day she was laid out on her bier. They warned everyone not to touch her.” Basch spooned hasenpfeffer into Ashe's bowl. His face was a thundercloud. “It amazes me that I remember that bit of information... _now._ Had I remembered that a year ago, I might not have been so eager to help those dying of the Plague...and we both would have suffered less.”

He handed her a bowl. She toyed with her food for a moment, before raising her head. “Was it she that taught you how to act around a girl?”

Basch half-grinned at Ashe, nonplussed. “Where did _that_ come from? Why do you ask?”

Ashe's smile was as sweet as cream. “Curiosity.”

He pursed his lips. “No. She was more concerned with teaching us how to tan hides, or how to fix a broken wagon wheel. She had no idea how to carry herself around a man that wasn't myself, my brother, or our father. Da tried to marry her off, but she queered the pitch by showing her 'affianced' that she could wrestle him to a pin in under a minute.”

“And you'd think that would've sealed the deal,” said Ashe jokingly.

“It would have, if the man wasn't an Archadian,” said Basch gravely. “If the man in question was from Landis, he'd have married her in a heartbeat.”

They laughed heartily for a few moments. When Basch sobered, Ashe said, “I ask, because you have the same problem.”

“What are you saying, I don't know how to woo a man?” Basch snorted once, before succumbing once more to his own laughter. He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. 

Ashe swatted his arm. “Buffoon! I meant that you didn't know how to tell me how you felt. You couldn't be around me for more than five seconds without stealing a glance at me. You looked like a forlorn little puppy. And the funniest thing was you thought that you were being sly about it.”

“When was that?” He crimsoned, and scratched his chin.

“After we were reunited on the _Leviathan_ , but before we took on the _Bahamut_...before the night we shared at the bonfire, outside Yoma. You kept sneaking peeks at me, and I'll bet you didn't think anyone noticed.”

Basch blinked, surprised. _“You_ noticed, it seems.”

“Basch,” said Ashe, _“everyone_ noticed. Vaan even started calling you 'Captain Obvious'.”

He tilted his head to one side, and smirked. “Subtlety was never my strong suit.”

“I'll say.” Ashe spooned up hasenpfeffer. She relished its peppery bite. “I didn't mind.”

“Oh, really,” said Basch acerbically. “If memory serves me correctly, the first thing you did when we were reunited was slap me for having the audacity to continue being alive.”

She grinned at her husband. “If I knew then, what I know now...”

“Mm-hmm.”

They shared a smile, then: “I would steal glances at you too, Basch—except, you never caught on.”

He shrugged, as he glanced at Ashe through the corner of his eye. “Maybe I did. If I didn't think you were receptive to my advances, I wouldn't have attempted them.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence. When they finished, Basch fed the fire until it blazed. He sat back, and looped his arm around Ashe's shoulders. “Ashe?”

She dropped her head on his shoulder again. “Yes?”

“Have you heard from our friends?”

She glanced at her hands in her lap. “I've not heard from Vaan or Penelo, and I fear for them, but I know where Balthier is. That's where I'm going after we part tomorrow.”

For one brief moment, Basch's encircling arm tightened minutely. Ashe bit back a smile. _After all this time...Basch still raises hackles whenever I mention Balthier, even though Balthier and Fran are so entwined they're one person._ Aloud, she said: “He is infected, as is Fran. I want to help our friends. Rabanastre is next, and I plan on finding out what happened to Vaan and Penelo.”

He nodded. “All right. Send word when you are in Rabanastre, would you please?” 

“The moment I step foot in the Royal Compound, I will send ten armed-to-the-teeth couriers to speed my message along.”

“That's good.” He disengaged from Ashe, put his bowl aside, and addressed his empty hands. “I would give anything to make you happy, Ashe.”

“I know...”

“No, you don't,” said Basch. “I would give my own life to ensure you had another little one.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Ashe broke it. “I told you, it wasn't an issue.”

He nodded. “I know. But it's my loss, too. It aches.”

She took his hand. “Would that we could. I would be the happiest woman in the world. It is one happiness I'm destined to live without.”

“Even if we could,” said Basch slowly, “it would be too early after the loss to conceive again, no?”

“Actually, no,” said Ashe. “Before she died, my mother miscarried four times in rapid succession. Then, after the last child was lost, I was conceived. My eldest brother told me that it wasn't more than a week or two after the last miscarriage.”

Basch quirked his eyebrow. “How would he know that?”

Ashe smiled fondly. “He was the apple of my father's eye...destined, as he was, to ascend the throne. Father told him everything.” She leaned into Basch's shoulder. “If it were possible to have another little one, Basch, there is a good chance that we could as soon as now.” 

“It's not a good idea,” said Basch. “It is wrong to stymie an emotion like grief. Becoming pregnant again would do just that.” He sighed. “That won't be a problem for us, though.”

More silence. Basch gazed up at the clear night sky. “The hour groweth late, Highness.” He slipped his hand from her grasp, as he wound his arms around her shoulders. “To sleep, Ashe?”

“No.” She leaned close and kissed his lips. “I miss you. I miss your touch. I want to share myself with you. I want to show you how much I care about you. I don't want you to sleep apart from me anymore, not while we are together. Sleep in my bedroll tonight, won't you?”

Blue eyes twinkled. “Is the forge hot tonight, love?”

She hooked her thumb at her bedroll. “Get over there. Now.”

Basch grinned at Ashe. “No need to ask twice.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

All things come full circle, don't they? Ashe felt that strange, equilibrium-rocking feeling of déjà vu, as the fire illuminated his eyes. 

“Let me in, Ashe?” Basch smiled into her eyes. “Let me have you.”

Again, déjà vu...isn't that what he said that first night, the night by the bonfire? Oh, it was more frenzied then, more intense (and decidedly more inebriated). Tonight, she accepted her husband's embrace in sobriety and reveled in the feel of his skin against hers and shuddered in the wake of almost total recall.

She allowed him in, and he kissed her deeply. Oh, how she loved this—and him. Her heart was in pieces, but with him, she could find the strength to mend it. As he buried his face in her exposed throat, she glanced up at the stars.

 _It's all so clear to me, now,_ she thought. _Everything is so clear to me._

She searched the heavens for Ophiuchus, that vast, clear, but elusive cluster of stars. Autumn had given the sky to Orion; it seemed that clear Serpentarius had already fled the heavens for the night.

Ah, clarity. The still, cold night welcomed Ashe's affirmations. As she and Basch loved each other, Ashe experienced a sudden clear burst of precognition—her first of three occasions in her entire life. It flashed from within, burned her, even as the frigid air chilled her flesh. 

Afterwards, she promised herself that she would never tell a soul what her body told her that night, not even Basch. He'd never believe it, anyway...even if he saw it with his own eyes.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Later.

“I love you,” said Ashe. 

“And I, you,” replied Basch. 

Ashe kissed him gently. “Thank you. Thank you for this...for forgiving me.”

“I am learning who I married. I ought to thank _you_ for your forgiveness. You're a stubborn girl.”

Ashe frowned slightly. “Basch...our handfasting. How long is it supposed to last?”

Basch grinned. “'For as long as our love shall last'...that _is_ what the priest said...”

She chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

He sobered, and gathered her close. “One year, Ashe.”

Ashe licked her lips. “We're not handfast anymore.” Not a question.

“No, we're not.”

“Basch,” said Ashe, “did you mean it when you said it didn't matter whether we were married? That I am your wife in your heart?”

Basch nodded. “I did.”

“Are you happy with me as we are?” Ashe kissed his Adam's Apple. 

Basch grunted. “I'll be happy for the rest of my life, if I get to spend it with you. Whether we are married or not, I am happy just being near you.”

Ashe smiled at Basch. “Me, too.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Basch curled his body around Ashe’s and laid his head against hers. “Good night, Lady Ashe.”

“Sleep well, Captain Obvious,” replied Ashe with a muzzy laugh. 

Basch’s mouth curled up in a slight smile, and he glanced up at the stars. They stitched an intricate tattoo across the heavens. At length, he closed his eyes and began to drift off. 

His eyebrows drew together. Something wasn’t right. He slowly opened his eyes, and turned his gaze upward again. His eyes bulged slightly, and his body stiffened. A large serpent undulated above them, with fangs exposed and forked tongue a-flicker. 

_Galtea save us,_ thought Basch. Aloud he whispered, almost imperceptibly: “Ashe.”

“Whuzzit?” said Ashe, as she stirred slightly. She began to turn her body to Basch, but he tightened his encircling arm and drew his free hand over her mouth. _“Hurrrf?”_

His nerves thrummed like a live wire, but he did not release her body for a moment. “Don’t… _move._ Not a muscle.”

Ashe turned her questioning gaze to Basch. She turned her gaze upward to see what he was so upset about, and screamed into his palm as she finally beheld what menaced them. Her eyes started from their sockets as she struggled against his steely grip.

Basch’s eyes darted to the other side of their camp. He relaxed minutely. “Ashe… _Ashe!_ Don’t move. It will not harm us.”

She locked eyes with Basch, and he motioned his head to the far end of the little clearing. A rabbit cowered there. The serpent advanced on the hapless creature, and in a blinding split-second was on it. Ashe watched, disgusted, as the rabbit's body slid slowly down the serpent’s right gullet.

When the serpent finished its meal, it slithered off to wherever it spent its nights. Breathless, the couple watched it go. 

“I'll not sleep another wink tonight,” said Ashe, when she could finally speak.

“My fault,” said Basch. “I should have been more aware.”

They sat under the cold stars, shivering with the chill in the air, and from reaction. Basch waited, sword in hand, for the serpent to return. It did not. After an hour of heart-juddering, suspenseful watchfulness, both Ashe and Basch reached for their rucksacks. 

They looked at each other. They glanced at each other's bags. Their eyes met once more.

Basch smiled wryly. “What are you doing, love?”

“Ahem,” said Ashe, embarrassed. She held up her diary. “I'm doing what I normally do when I'm under stress. I write in my diary. You?”

He held up his journal, and waggled it. “Mm-hmm.”

They glanced down at their diaries in silence. Basch broke the silence with a chuckle. Ashe looked up, to see Basch push his journal into her hand. She smiled down at it, and handed Basch her own.

“It should have been you I poured my heart out to, not that book,” said Basch. “I guess I can rectify that now, by allowing you to walk through my memories.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

After an hour and a half of reading, Basch rubbed his eyes and yawned. Ashe's missives to her diary were long and heartfelt. He learned much from the words that looped across the page, but wished that she had told him instead. He glanced at Ashe, who had also finished reading. 

“Ashe.”

“Yes?”

Basch handed her diary back. She took it without a word. His now-empty palm slid across her face—high, across the apple of her cheek. Across the still-red welt he left on her face. “Promise me that you'll come to me if there is anything amiss in your life. I promise you that I will always be there for you, if you promise me the same.”

Ashe handed Basch his journal, and nodded. “I promise.”


	15. Transcendence

Eruyt Village was silent. Balthier shivered, and wrapped his arms across his emaciated chest. Oh, Death was here, surely...tomorrow, perhaps, if he was lucky. Another pained shudder wracked his gaunt frame. He drew a watery breath. 

Death may have come for him, but he did not want to go. He hurt, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Breathing became a chore. His very veins were searing lines of agony. He was afire, dying.

He was afraid to die. He fought it with every fiber of his being. He would not go gently.

“Hey...Sky Pirate!”

He knew that, if he still had his sight, he would see things he _knew_ weren't there. He was certainly _hearing_ things that weren't there. Why would he hear Vaan's voice now?

“Balthier...come on, man...stop woolgathering...Penelo, can he hear us?”

Why did the Gods toy with him? Why would he hear his comrades? They were dead...everyone was dead...

“Cut it out, Vaan,” said Penelo. “You know he can hear us. Balthier—answer me, Balthier.” 

A small, sure hand touched his trembling shoulder. He reached up, and grasped it. He hung onto it, as tightly as a drowning man would hold onto a life preserver. He addressed the owner of the hand. “Am I finally dead?”

“Why would you be dead, Balthier?” The owner of the small soft hand chuckled. “We're here to help you.”

“We sure are!” Vaan laughed. “We met up with Ashe as she was on her way here! I call that a stroke of great luck. Penelo and I, we weren't in good shape. It was a really near thing, but Ashe healed us! She showed us how to find the Arcane again...”

“Yeah,” said Penelo. “We can heal now, too! There was a group by the Salikawood...they really needed help. We took care of them, and...”

Balthier nodded slowly. They had to be auditory hallucinations. _Had_ to be. He was sure they would chatter on happily about magick and giant healing parties and teaching the world how to re-claim the Arcane until he dropped dead. He humored the voices in his head. He really couldn't think of a better way to go, anyway. He was surrounded by his friends...even if they _were_ all in his head.

Ashe placed her other hand on Balthier's shoulders, and concentrated. Wisps of her _ki_ filtered down through his tainted, defiled self. His unseeing eyes widened, and he gasped. “Don't move, Balthier,” said Ashe. 

“I wouldn't dream of it, your Highness,” said Balthier. He blinked once. Were those... _shapes_...moving around in the white nothingness that posed as his sight? As the pain lessened, he wiggled his fingers. He could feel blood circulating in his fingers again. Feeling returned to his extremities. 

“You're not a hallucination, are you?” Balthier reveled in the slow return of his vision, and tilted his gaze over his shoulder at Ashe. “You're alive...you're _all_ alive?”

“Yep,” said Vaan. “We have Ashe and Basch to thank for that.”

“Ashe...is our man-at-arms here?” Balthier grinned. “I never expected the lout to figure out how to save the Hume race.” 

“Yes, he did,” said Ashe, smiling herself. “And I'd much rather you not call my husband a lout, thanks so much.”

His eyebrows vaulted to his hairline. “Wed in secret, did you?” Balthier glanced sidelong at Ashe. “You know, you missed out on a whole slew of wedding gifts like that.”

“We'll rectify that, as soon as we find a way to be wed without raising an uproar from my people or our neighboring countries.” Ashe worried her lip as she finished purging the Plague from Balthier's body. “There aren't many people left to make a stink about it. Perhaps it isn't as much of a problem anymore.”

Balthier dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. “I suppose you know how to save all the races on Ivalice now, don't you?”

Ashe nodded. “Yes, we do.”

He drew his brows together distractedly. “It was too late for Fran. She was worse off than I was. I saw her last week, and she was closer to death than I was when you found me. Now that I can see,” said Balthier, slowly, “I'd like to visit her grave. I won't leave Eruyt without saying goodbye...”

“Has anyone told you you talk too much, Balthier?”

Balthier stood jerkily, and swung his body towards the familiar voice. Fran stood behind him, her arm slung over Jote's shoulder. She smiled tiredly. “Really, now...I have to help you kick that habit...”

He walked to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He drew her close. “Gods. I thought you were dead.”

“I did, too.” Fran disengaged herself from her sister, and embraced Balthier. 

Penelo elbowed Vaan in the ribs. Let's leave these two alone. Jote, are there any others that need our help?”

“Some,” said Jote. “Most of the village had succumbed to the Plague, but there are a tenacious few that still linger. Come with me.”

They left Fran and Balthier alone at the fish-pond, to tend to the rest of Eruyt. The reunited partners sat on Balthier's bench, hands clasped, heads touching. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Viera in Eruyt would not leave the safety of the Wood to help the purging process along. Penelo wasn't surprised. They were xenophobic by nature. She made it a point to teach every survivor what she knew, so even if the Viera wouldn't leave the Wood, at least they could protect themselves if the Plague made another resurgence.

She packed her rucksack in silence. Vaan decided on the spot that he was to accompany Balthier to the _other_ Village. _That_ was a shock to Penelo, and had questioned Jote about it.

“Child,” said Jote, “Why would there not be a yang to our yin?”

“Sorry,” said she. “I just thought...I've never seen male Viera anywhere. I didn't think they existed.”

Jote pursed her lips, suppressing a small smile. “How do you think we reproduce, Hume? Magick? Egg-laying? Or perhaps we just wish the little ones into being?” Jote smiled, then—the first genuine smile Penelo had ever seen on the tall Viera. 

Penelo smiled back shyly. “You're right. Sorry.” Penelo looked down at her hands, as she fidgeted with her pack's laces. “Um, Jote? What do they look like?”

Jote drew her feathery brows together, and stared at Penelo. She looked upon the diminutive Hume as if she was mentally deficient. “They look like us.”

Penelo planted her hands on her hips, and scowled at Jote. “I know _that._ I'm not foolish, Jote.”

Jote dropped her eyes first as she chuckled sheepishly. “I apologize. They _do_ look like us. Most of them keep their hair short. They share our coloring. They are even more wary of visitors as we are, and become violent when they are...erm, invaded.” She twinkled. “Chances are, due to their nature, they have not been touched by the Plague.”

Penelo scratched her cheek. “How will Balthier and Vaan gain entrance, then? Wouldn't the other Viera tribe tear them apart?”

“Mjrn will accompany them to the Village. She has to visit, at any rate. Her mate is there, and we have to go about the mechanics of building our ranks again.”

“Her...mate? I—oh!” Penelo crimsoned. “I see.”

“She may indeed be the youngest of our particular family, child, but she is many times your age,” said Jote, not unkindly. “She has been mated to Beld for many years. They've not kindled, not yet, but I do believe that the Plague might be what they've needed.”

“Well, I feel better that Mjrn's going to the Village with Balthier and Vaan,” said Penelo. “And at least I'm not going to be alone. Fran's going to come with me to Rabanastre.”

Jote looked at her feet. “I ought to thank you Humes. Without you, we would have died out.” Ashe and the others joined Penelo. Jote locked eyes with Balthier. “It is time for you to go, now.”

“Yes.” Balthier extended his hand, grinning. “Thanks, Jote. You let me and Fran stay here, even though you hate me.”

She scowled at the rakish sky pirate. “I do not hate you, Balthier—even if you spirited Fran from us _and_ brought the Plague to Eruyt. You came here, because you trusted us enough to help you both.” She reached out, and grasped Balthier's proffered hand. “I suppose the usual goodbyes are in order...'you don't belong here, never come back'...that is sufficient, yes?”

Balthier fiddled with his shirt-cuffs. “Yes, it is. I'll send Fran back when it's her time.”

Jote nodded once. “Goodbye.” She turned to go. Over her shoulder, she glanced at Ashe. “Good luck, Hume-child,” she said.

Nonplussed, Ashe nodded to Jote.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Before they parted ways, Penelo tugged at Balthier's shirtsleeve. “Balthier?”

He packed his rucksack in silence for a moment. Finally Balthier addressed Penelo without looking up at the diminutive girl. “Yeah.”

Penelo cleared her throat. “Fran...she has a mate in the other Viera village, doesn't she?”

Balthier compressed his lips. “She does.”

_Ouch. I'm an idiot,_ thought Penelo. Aloud, she said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up...”

“It's all right, Penelo,” said Balthier. He stood suddenly. “It's not your fault, no more than it's Fran's fault.” Balthier crossed his arms momentarily before favoring Penelo with a thin, hard, sunny smile. 

Penelo cringed slightly. _He's right...not my fault. But still..._ “She's never mentioned him.”

“They haven't seen each other in years. Apparently, he's as xenophobic of his own kind as the rest of the Viera are with Humes,” said Balthier. “He tends to stay away from _everyone_...but when Fran is ready to mate, he'll come out of the woodwork, I'm sure.” 

Penelo nodded mutely. The rest of her comrades joined them at Eruyt's gate. Balthier addressed Ashe. “Any idea what Jote meant?”

“No idea.” Ashe chewed her lip pensively. “I suppose I'll find out.”


	16. Death, Rebirth, Renewal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grammar isn't as horrible as you see it in this chapter. The Seeq that appears in this chapter has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about the way she speaks that makes it LOOK like I have bad grammar. I wrote it out the way I heard her character speak. Figured I'd let you know ahead of time.

Ashe bid her friends farewell on the Salikawood border, and made her way back to her kingdom's capital...her home. She made her way back to Basch. She was sure he was there. It had been months since they had seen each other last. 

She decided to stop in Nalbina. If their sweep of Ivalice was to be complete, she had to go to Nalbina to search for Plague survivors. 

When she arrived there, she was dismayed to find so few still alive. When she announced to the sparse crowd that she could help them, she was inundated with plague sufferers of all races. She spent hours purging the Great Plague from Nalbina. 

Nearly spent, she slumped against a wall. A portly Seeq female approached her warily. “Lassie?”

Ashe passed a shaking hand across her eyes. “Yes?”

“Can ya heal me?” The Seeq twisted her hands together. “I'm sufferin' real bad.”

Ashe nodded, and lay hands on the Seeq. After a time, the Seeq sighed gustily. “I thankee, Lassie. Thought I was a goner, there.”

“You're welcome,” said Ashe. She squeezed her eyes shut, wearily, and opened her eyes to see the Seeq fiddle with her armband. Ashe's eyes widened in alarm. Not the Seeq's armband... _Basch's_ armband. She grabbed the Seeq's forearm. “Where did you get this?”

The Seeq simpered minutely. “Found it.”

She released her arm. “Where?”

The porcine female shrugged. “I found it on a corpse. Where d'ya think I got it? I didn't steal it, if'n that's what yer thinkin'!”

Ashe blinked once, then sneered derisively. “I don't believe you.”

“Believe whatcha want, lassie.” The Seeq raised her hands. “The Hume that wore this was stone dead when I found 'im. And when I say dead, I mean he was _dead._ Poor bastid looked worked over by the wolves. He was dead fer two weeks, if'n it were a day.”

Ashe drew herself to her full height, and advanced on the Seeq. “What did he look like?”

“I tole ya, there wa'ant much left of 'im...”

The Seeq grunted suddenly in pain as Ashe grabbed her hair and yanked her piggy face close to her own. _“Tell me!”_

“Ow! Lay off, girlie! All right! He had a lot o' hair—what was left of it. Might've been blond, but that could've been from the sun bleachin' it after he bit the dirt sandwich. He was big. Laddie prolly stood taller'n me—maybe six-two, six-three. Poor bastid still had one o' his eyes...but I couldn't tell what color it was...it was pretty clouded over, an' all. Just about the oney thing I _could_ be sure of was that it was light. Green, maybe, or blue...I couldn't tell. Now lemme go!”

She yanked her hair out of Ashe's grasp. Ashe was undeterred. She brandished her jeweled dagger, and stood her ground. “That could be anyone. Tell me more!”

“Good _grief,_ woman! I didn't ast him any questions, or anythin'! Jeez.” The Seeq raised one shoulder. “Lemme see. He wore a heavy ridin' cloak...boots ta match...he had a few pieces o' jewelry, you saw what I got from 'im...”

Ashe's eyes flashed dangerously. “What _other_ pieces of jewelry?”

“Like...ah, hell, lady. He had this.” The Seeq pulled a silver pendant from her pocket. It was Basch's Phoenix pendant. Ashe paled. The Seeq didn't let on that she saw. “That's all I got. I wa'ant the one who did 'im in. I just found 'im like that. Sorry state he was in too.”

“Did he have any distinguishable characteristics?” Ashe whispered these last few words.

“Distinguishable...'sides what I jest tole ya? Galtea wept...he was scarred, if that helps.”

Ashe's hands stole to her mouth, and she sat down, hard. The Seeq's heart went out to her. She sighed, and deposited the armband and Firebird pendant in her lap. “I ken it. These belong to yer man, don't they?”

Ashe nodded mutely, as she pushed her sleeve back to reveal the mate to the armband. The Seeq tutted. “Galtea have mercy. Sorry, lady.”

“It can't be...it just can't!” Ashe buried her face in her hands and wept. The Seeq looked at her a moment longer, slowly shook her head, and left Ashe to her own devices. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ashe scoured Nalbina for anyone who might have seen what happened to Basch, and if he was really dead. The streets were empty save the few souls she could save from the ravages of the Plague. She ran herself ragged. She found the Seeq again, but she could not tell Ashe anything more than she already had. She pointed out a few of the seedier corners of Nalbina, and wished the Hume-woman luck.

Seedy was an understatement. The darkest corners of Nalbina were a rat-infested hellhole. Every pair of eyes that rested on Ashe were full of contempt. All of them were Plague carriers. Ashe had no desire to touch them, despite the pact she made with her friends when they left Eruyt—they would help everyone they came across, and that they would purge the Plague from Ivalice for good. 

But these men—the Seeq had made mention that they were escapees from the Dungeons, mostly. The rest of the men there were the dregs of society, and that like attracted like. She told Ashe to watch her back. Ashe would take the Seeq's advice to heart.

She walked the alleyways in a dim daze. In one hand, she held the Phoenix pendant her husband always wore around his neck. In the other, she held her razor-sharp dagger. Every man that dared meet her eyes was grilled mercilessly. She thrust the pendant at every face that turned her way, more times than she could count. She almost gave up.

Ashe felt someone watch her from the shadows, a quarter hour after sunset. She slowly turned, and locked gazes with a thin man. He had darting eyes and a raging case of the Plague. The man inclined his chin at Basch's pendant. “Where did you find that, Missy?”

“It was my husband's pendant.” Ashe hefted the heavy silver charm. “I am looking for his killer.”

“Word travels fast around here, Missy. I heard you're a healer of some repute. Heal me, and I will tell you.” The man favored Ashe with a greasy smile. “I can tell you anything you want.”

That smile could not be trusted. Ashe shook her head. “No. Tell me, and I will heal you.”

He cackled. “Any reason why you want to know what happened to him? Almost everyone that had lived on Ivalice is dead. Why would your husband's demise matter, anyway?”

“He did not die from the Plague—he was murdered.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It matters.”

“What would you do, Missy, if I told you that I killed your husband? Hmm? Would you kill _me_? I welcome it.”

Snorting laughter, Ashe slid the pendant into her pocket. “I hardly believe you killed my husband. He...”

“Was much bigger than me, I know,” said the man. “It didn't matter. It takes darkness, a keen blade, and your wits to take out a potential victim. I only wanted his things. He made it easy for folks like me—that pendant was in plain sight, and that armband of his clanked against the charm when he walked. He really didn't make any move to hide his stuff.” The thief smiled slightly in commiseration. “I really didn't want to kill him. It happens sometimes, when you're mugging someone. It was either him or me. I much preferred my hide where it was, thanks.”

She sneered. “Your words mean nothing. What did he look like?”

He smiled expansively. “Who knows? It was dark. All I know was he towered over me. That, and his hands. He tried to throttle me with the last of his strength. He would've done me in, too, but for sheer luck.” He pointed to the base of his skull. “I wanted to slide the blade in, just under the shelf of bone at the base of the skull. I missed, and skewered his neck, instead. He turned on me, and he had me. If he hadn't choked to death on his own blood, he would've killed me.”

“More than you deserve,” Ashe said coldly. “You may have killed, but I still do not believe it was my husband you murdered.”

“His hands, m'dear,” the thief said patiently. “I told you about his hands, yes? Did he break his fingers—any of them—in the past five or six years?”

Ashe furrowed her forehead in thought. Now that she thought about it, didn't Basch's hands ache terribly in the damp? Didn't he ask her to massage his sore knuckles during the coldest of days? He had told her it was because...because...

“Nalbina. He was tortured in the Black Watch. They did horrible things to him there. He told me many of his bones were broken over the space of two years...including most of the bones in his hands.” Ashe stared at her own hands. “Six of his fingers, and...”

“His left thumb,” finished the thief smugly. “Told you so. His left thumb nearly shattered my windpipe. I could feel the old breaks in his hands when he tried to choke the life out of me.”

Through numb lips, Ashe said: “How did the Seeq find his corpse—with his pendant and armband still attached—if you killed him for his effects? If you were mugging him, wouldn't you have taken his things after his death?”

“After I stuck him, he tried to throttle me—I already told you that. I didn't get a chance to take his stuff, because once I wriggled out of his grasp, I ran.” The thief advanced on Ashe. “Truth be told, I'm not sure when he died, but he was as good as dead when I took off.”

“Gods.” Ashe sighed—a watery, lost sound. In the gloom, she saw a dim flicker of light on steel. The thief advanced further. 

“Now, if you don't mind, Missy,” said the thief, “I suggest you heal me. I'll not lose this opportunity. Lay hands on me and heal me.”

“Will you kill me, as well?” Ashe made no move to flee. “I suggest you make it quick.”

“As you like.” The thief's dagger rose slowly in the night. Before it began its descent, Ashe said, “One more thing before you do the deed.”

“What now?”

“It was dark when you killed him, I know,” she said, “but please, tell me this: what was his coloring?” The thief said something that smacked of wrongness. Ashe couldn't figure out what, though. Her thoughts were roiling, disjointed, and she had another of those flashes. For the remainder of her life, she would only have one other. _“Tell me.”_

The thief spread his hands. Greasy light winked from the blade. “I'm not sure. I told you—it was dark” His mouth twisted slightly. “The only thing I could make out was his hair, if that helps. It was like a beacon in the night...as red as blood. Why?”

Ashe blinked. She _knew_ it. “Because...because you didn't kill my husband.” She frowned in concentration. “It makes little sense. If you _didn't_ kill my husband, then who did?”

“Got me, lady.” He sidled closer. “No more dilly-dallying. Heal me. Now.”

Ashe was at a loss. She was back to square one. “All right. I will not renege.” She laid hands on the thief, and healed him. 

The thief sat still as she ministered to his ailments. When she was done, he flashed his first genuine smile. “That's a wonder! I feel like a new man!”

Ashe hung her head. “Will you kill me, now?”

Taken aback, the thief stared at Ashe bemusedly. “Why would I do _that?”_

Completely dumbfounded, Ashe blinked stupidly. “I...you threatened me...my husband...I...”

“You healed me,” said the thief. “You were true to your word. Why would I kill you for that?” He rotated his shoulders in their joints experimentally. “And the icing on the cake is that your happy hubby wasn't killed by my hand. I feel that this is a good day for us both.”

Ashe scowled. “Why is this a good day for _me?”_

“Happy Hubby _might_ not be dead, Missy,” said the thief. “Even so, if I didn't off him, there's a chance someone _did._ Keep looking. I'm sure you'll find out, one way or another.” He raised one hand in farewell, and turned his back on Ashe. 

When he disappeared into the gloom, she addressed the spot where he had stood. “Yes. I suppose you're right.”


	17. What Dreams May Come

Ashe stepped to the balustrade, and surveyed her city. Post-Plague, it rebounded slowly. She could not see more that two score people walk the streets at any given time, but those that she could see were healthy. Since they were able to tap into the Arcane again, those touched by Death were able to make a full recovery. 

She frowned to herself. Could it be, perhaps, that they were tempting Fate again? Did they have any right to wrest Plague-ridden souls from Death’s embrace? Even if they could save those souls with the Arcane, did it give them the right to do so? 

Perhaps it _wasn’t_ their right, but the knowledge was theirs again, and the Arcane was theirs again. Perhaps this came to be because the Plague had almost run its course, and Hume-kind wasn’t choking Ivalice with sheer numbers anymore. But, maybe…perhaps Basch was right: the salvation of Hume-kind came to be in the form of the Arcane…their salvation was their own.

Basch…

He really was a hero. She smiled proudly, even as tears pricked her gray eyes. He gave all that he had to find a way to save Hume-kind, and then some. He fought, until the end, to save his race.

She placed her hands just above the shelf of her pubic bone, and smiled. Basch _was_ wrong about one thing, however…and Ashe prayed that the baby-to-be resembled Basch, just as Hope did. It would be fitting that the little one would look like Basch…it would be his legacy, his greatest, lasting achievement. The baby would want for nothing, and live in a world that was free of the threat of suffering, thanks to its father. Moreover, she would be sure to tell the child—and the rest of the world—that Basch fon Ronsenberg did not die on an Imperial Gallows Hill. She would tell the world that Basch was part of the Resistance that saved Ivalice from Vayne Solidor, that Basch was her loving husband, and that Basch was just and true and virtuous to the end…

If only she was certain that he was truly dead.

Doubt gnawed at her bones, worried her senses like a terrier worried a rat. She did not see the deed done, did not see the hammer fall. Why should she believe some dying guttersnipes when Basch himself told her to believe nothing of what she heard and only half of what she saw? 

Ashe searched her heart. She searched for the small, quiet voice in the deepest part of her soul. When she found it, she asked that tiny mote if Basch was truly gone. Had he left the mortal coil? Was he truly dead?

She touched the Arcane, and the Arcane enveloped her, penetrated her, and she knew—heart and soul—that Basch was alive. He was alive...and she suddenly knew how the dead man found by the Seeq came to have Basch's things. The moment that she was finally able to deduce what had truly happened—it was as powerful as a precognitive flash, she thought—came and went, but she remembered everything.

Ashe touched her lips with the tips of her fingers and smiled. As her tears slid down her cheeks, a pair of callused, powerful hands touched her shoulders.

Ashe whirled around, and the sight of her careworn, scarred husband transported her. “Oh!” She leapt into his arms. “Where have you _been?”_

Basch wrapped his arms around Ashe. He didn't speak—verily, he could not, not right away. When he did find his voice, it was hushed. “You'll not believe what happened to me, if I did tell you.”

Gray eyes touched blue. “You were waylaid on the Great Road, weren't you? A big brute, about your height, with dark red hair and green eyes. His face was heavily scarred. Am I right?”

Basch knit his brows. “How in blazes do you know that? The bastard caught me unawares, knocked me senseless and robbed me. When I found him again, he was already dead, my effects stolen by another thief.” He shook his head bemusedly. “How did you know?”

Ashe reached into her dress pocket, and drew out his armband and pendant. “A Seeq—the thief that stole from _your_ thief—had a heart of gold. She gave these to me. She also gave me the fright of my life when she described the body she stole these off of.” Ashe grimaced. “It was almost uncanny, how close the description was.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What did this Seeq say—and what did you deduce?”

“I put two and two together. He might have had your general build, and he might have had light eyes, but he was on the Great Road for as long as two weeks in the elements. The Seeq also said he was scarred, but she never said he had one distinctive scar across his forehead.” 

Basch chuckled. “Was she a blue-skin?” When Ashe nodded, he continued. “Lola. I met up with the rapscallion after you did. She forked the evil eye at me because she thought I was the fellow whose body she robbed.” He smiled blandly. “Evidently I really _did_ look like the man she stole from. When she realized I was me, she told me you were looking for me. She told me you were home.”

“Galtea be thanked,” said Ashe. She smiled, and thought of the roguish Seeq. “Lola, too. Are you truly all right?”

“Truly. The thief that knocked me cold did no damage to me. After I was robbed, I made my way back home. On the way I spent some time in North Bank. There were few survivors, but I helped who I could.”

Ashe tilted her head at Basch, and raised her eyebrows wryly. “Jacy...did she make it home?”

Basch nodded once. “She did. She died there. I spoke with Shamus before I left. Jacy had begun to settle back into life there, before the Plague hit. I'm glad she was able to reconcile with her father before her death.”

“Yes.” Ashe touched Basch's cheek. “Darling? I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, love?”

“After we reconciled, I vowed never to keep anything from you,” said Ashe. She rested her head on Basch's chest. “When I thought you were dead, I wanted to die, too. I didn't want to live another moment without you...but now I have something besides you to live for.”

“The baby,” said Basch, a hint of laughter in his voice. Ashe raised her head, stunned. Basch ran his fingers under her fringe of hair, and swept it from her eyes. He smiled. “Lola and I had tea before I left Nalbina. We talked about this and that, and the topic of her upcoming birth came up. She's expecting her own little one by Year End. I suppose I was wrong about the nature of the Plague...well, the nature of _that_ , at the very least.”

“Just how did you know I was expecting, then?” Ashe tugged at his whiskers playfully. “Lola is Seeq...I'm Hume. How did you make the deduction that _all_ races have the ability to reproduce, now?”

“Wishful thinking, perhaps?” Basch held her close. “I don't know how to explain it, Ashe. I've known in my heart for some time now...I've held that feeling in my heart since the night we were menaced by the serpent. When I loved you that night...I just knew.”

“That's funny,” said Ashe. “So did I.”

Basch grunted. “We should have told each other.”

Ashe smiled. “That's neither here nor there. You're home, now.” She took Basch's hand and placed it over her still-flat belly. “I'm glad you're here for this. I'm glad you can finally experience this with me.”

Basch's gravelly whisper was thick with emotion as he addressed his wife. “So am I. I didn’t want to miss this for the world.”


End file.
